The Serpents' Society and the Quest for the Heir
by Amberdulen
Summary: Pre-OotP - Fifty-two years ago, Tom Riddle created a secret organization of Slytherins. Now the Chamber of Secrets has been reopened -- will the Society for Slytherin Advancement try to fulfill the goals of their founder?
1. Letters

**Author's Note:** This is a parallel novel to The Chamber of Secrets and a sequel to The Serpents' Society, previously posted. I've tried to make this so that you can read this book without reading its prequel; but if you get confused, you'd better read The Serpent's Society anyway. Great pains have been taken to make sure that this book doesn't change the story told in the Chamber of Secrets or contradict anything in the series. Finally, I own nothing, including the words "Slytherin" and "Oy" and the town Cerne Abbas.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Chapter One: Letters**

The August sun beat down on a small cottage near Cerne Abbas, Dorset, Britain. The front yard was withered and brown from the long, dry summer; a few wilted flowers sprouted from sparse patches around the cottage. In the back, a vegetable garden sprung like a lush oasis in the desert of parched grass, and a nearby garden hose, dripping idly, explained why. William Parson, sixty-six years old, knelt on arthritic knees and battled a stubborn weed with hands that grew more twisted in each passing summer. 

As the sweat poured over his brow and his palsied joints shook, he wished for one of the few times in his adulthood that he had been born differently. His wife or any of his three children could have easily weeded the garden with a quick hex or spell. All four of them were magically talented witches or wizards, and he, William Parson, was not. 

The long hoot of an owl sounded through the sky. To many, an owl in the daytime might have been unusual at best and troubling at worst; Mr. Parson only stood up, slowly unbending his stiff legs, and scanned the sky for the calling bird. 

A moment later, a black-and-white owl -- Great Horned, by Mr. Parson's estimation -- soared out of the forest and circled around the man's head before landing on one shoulder and dropping an envelope into his other hand. 

The letter was made of thick, mottled parchment and addressed in green ink. The address read: 

    _Beth Parson   
    214 Castleberry Way   
    Cerne Abbas   
    Dorset
_

Mr. Parson stroked the owl on the beak idly, and read the return address for a few moments before going into the cottage to deliver the mail to his daughter. 

He got out some raw bacon and a bowl of water for the owl, who devoured it passionately. "Bethy, you got a letter." He limped slowly into the living room. 

Beth knelt on the hardwood floorboards, scrubbing mightily at a coffee stain that neither of them admitted to causing. She looked up, bushy blonde hair plastered to her face in the front, puffing out to below her shoulders in the back. 

"Who from?" 

"Says it's from Richard Shaw." 

Beth stood up eagerly and wiped her hands on her jeans before taking the letter. She was tall for her age, just as her father had been. "Rich is a guy in my house," she said, at her father's curious expression. "Fourth -- no, he's a fifth year now. One up from me." 

"I don't know, Beth, you and those Slytherin boys," Mr. Parson teased. "You're only fourteen, mind." 

"Only fourteen?" Beth demanded. 

"Only fourteen," Mr. Parson reiterated stoutly. "Barely old enough to look at boys, let alone date, so don't even bother to ask." 

"But I'm old enough for you to worry about it," Beth grinned. 

Mr. Parson held up his hands in mock surrender. A few years ago he would have done so much more quickly, but these days his joints were sore and his motions slow. "Don't you make me worry," he warned. "I'll leave you alone to read that. Wouldn't want an old fool meddling in affairs of the heart." 

"Dad, he's _just a friend_!" Beth protested, but her father, grinning, turned and shuffled away, dismissing her cry with one hand. 

As soon as he was gone, Beth tore open the letter. Whatever Rich had to say, it was bound to be important. 

What Beth hadn't told her father was that Richard Shaw was the president of a secret organization -- an organization to which she had been inducted just a year ago. Its name was the Society for Slytherin Advancement, and its purpose was to make Slytherin the best house at Hogwarts by learning the secrets of the castle and helping the members in their quests for personal greatness. The year before, when a trio of first-year Gryffindors broke into a forbidden corridor which protected a magical Sorcerer's Stone, it was the S.S.A who had warned Headmaster Dumbledore in time to save their lives. 

The letter read: 

    _Members: _

    Greetings from the Hogwarts chapter of the Society for Slytherin Advancement. I had to contact you with a few points of interest before the school year starts.   
    Since former member Jerome Marx graduated last year, his position as prefect has been filled by none other than our own Randall Riggs. Send him an owl and congratulate him: sneaking out to meetings is nowhere near as easy if the prefect isn't one of us.   
    Riggs is also enchanting the notes to pass on to the new members, and Daedalus Dellinger is charming the rings. Those should be almost done by now, chaps. Fourth-years, at least two of you need to learn how to do this, so be ready to volunteer to learn over the coming year. 

The fourth-years in question were Mervin Fletcher, Melissa Ollivander, Bruce Bletchley, and Beth herself. She hadn't seen any of them since last June, even Melissa and Bruce, her best friends at the school. __

    Our first meeting will be September 3 at 11:00 p.m. We're sticking with Thursday nights. The new members will be getting there at 11:30, so we have time to chat before they come. Vivian Sicklewise will start the meeting until Riggs and I get there with the newbies.   
    Speaking of newbies, everyone gets to stalk a second-year except for Riggs and Dell, since they're doing the supplies and the training. Uther Montague has asked to be assigned any of them that end up on the Quidditch team. If there happen to be two, Bruce gets the other one. We'll give you assignments to start with, and if you need to, you can switch later on in the year.   
    That's all you need to know for now. Let's make it a good year -- we have to win back the House Cup. Until then, have a good summer, and "gloria serpens": for the glory of the snake. Best wishes, 

    Richard Shaw   
    President, student chapter 

    P.S. To maintain secrecy, this message has been enchanted to self-destruct. 

Self-destruct? Beth wondered, when the letter burst into flames. 

Beth let out a yelp and jumped a foot in the air. She hurled the burning letter into her bucket of soapy water, where it ignited the sponge and lay gently smoldering until there was nothing but a sticky, charred mess floating on top of the water. It bobbed around for a bit, then slowly sank to the bottom. A disgusting, burnt smell floated up out of the bucket. 

Mr. Parson hobbled back in. "What were you yelling about, Bethy?" His nose wrinkled and he got a funny look on his face. "D'you smell something?" 

"Uh ... no," she stammered, feigning confusion. "Maybe it's something in the oven?" 

"Maybe," Mr. Parson, said, but he sounded unconvinced. 

That was the first owl Beth got in August. She received three more after that. One was from her friend Melissa, vacationing in Italy. Her family's eagle owl, Goldie, was well-groomed and strong -- "She has a good pedigree," Melissa had bragged the year before -- and seemed to have easily handled the transcontinental journey. The moving postcard, which showed a gondola sailing along a canal, was good-intentioned but perfunctory. 

    _Having a good time in Italy,_ it read. _I got a letter from Rich about you-know-what, I think I'd like to learn how to enchant the rings. It would be fascinating to find out how they work. I've met so many great wizards and witches here, many of them are quite famous. I even got to see some of the places that they talk about in our classes. All the old alchemists were from Italy, you know. I'll see you soon, miss you lots, your friend, Melissa_

Melissa's parents were aristocrats in the wizarding world. Their family had been premier wand manufacturers for centuries; consequently, the Ollivanders were quite rich. Her uncle, who also ran a shop in Diagon Alley, did most of the actual manufacturing, while Melissa's parents traveled the globe gathering raw materials. Melissa had been to lots of foreign places, and got a positive thrill out of hobnobbing with great and famous people. 

A very different sort of boy was Bruce Bletchley, Beth's other best friend. He had no patience for society. His one great love was Quidditch, that furiously-paced wizarding game that was often described as "basketball plus soccer on broomsticks." He had played Keeper, or goalie, on the Slytherin team the year before, and judging by his letter, could think of little else but the coming season. 

    _Dear Beth,   
    Hope you're having a good summer. I'll bet you miss the Gryffindors though, ha ha.   
    They put in a Quidditch pitch about a half an hour from my house, so I've been practicing almost every day. They have balls and things you can borrow, and there's even a Nimbus Two Thousand that you can rent by the hour -- I tried it once and it's wonderful. I know what I want for Christmas already. Lots of people hang around there, so I can always find someone who want to try and practice sinking goals while I try to stop them. It's loads of fun. I met some really nice folks too.   
    I saw Aaron at a match between the Winbourne Wasps and Puddlenore United over the summer. He's going to try out for Beater this year since he can't grip well enough to be a Seeker after that injury last year. I don't know who we're going to get to be Seeker since Terrence Higgs graduated. Everybody else is still here, though, and since Marcus Flint has to repeat his sixth year we have him for two more years, his loss but our gain.   
    I have to go practice now, I'm meeting some people at the Quidditch pitch, but I told you I'd write at least this summer, so there. See you soon,   
    Bruce.   
    P.S. My parents are going to Diagon Alley to get my books on August 21, want to meet there? Send a letter back with Duck.
_

Duck was the Bletchley's squat, flat-faced owl, and definitely deserved the name. Beth wrote back saying she'd love to meet his family there. Usually she did her school shopping by herself, since her nonmagical father would have to drive about six hours to come along, but she could get there by Floo powder in a few minutes. 

The last letter she got arrived on August 12. It was the annual letter from Hogwarts Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry, preparing her for the coming school year. 

That one arrived as Beth and her father ate dinner in their little kitchen. The overheated-looking owl hurled through the open kitchen window and practically threw the letter onto the table before dashing back outside and diving into the birdbath in the front lawn. 

Beth picked the letter out of a bowl of pickles and gingerly peeled off the dripping envelope. She read it over quickly; it contained all the standard greetings and announcements, and a list of her required books. "Who's Gilderoy Lockhart?" she asked her father, carrying the dilled envelope to the trash can between thumb and forefinger. 

Her father thought for a minute. Having married a witch and raised three more, he wasn't entirely ignorant of the magical community. "Don't know that I've heard of him. Why?" 

"He wrote all of my textbooks." 

Mr. Parson smiled in mild amusement. "Then I'd say he's either quite the scholar, or has a true fan at Hogwarts." 

Beth came and sat back down thoughtfully. "Hey, I was wondering ... would it be all right if I borrowed Mercator? To send a letter?" She looked up at him hopefully. 

He gave her a look, a little disapproving and a little sad. "You just sent one last week." 

"Yeah -- I know, but --" 

"And the week before ... and the one before that ..." 

"Well, don't you think that they should be getting as many as possible?" 

Her father sighed. "Bethy, I would write a letter a day. I don't think you realize how serious it would be if we were caught -- and the more letters, the more danger of it." 

Beth lowered her head. "I know." 

Mr. Parson looked at his daughter across the table. She had grown up an only child, and although he wouldn't admit it, she had him wrapped around her little finger. She deserved to feel close to her family. That was why he said, "Well ... how about just one more before school starts?" 

She looked back up at him in delight. "Great!" She jumped up from the table, taking her Hogwarts letter with her. 

"Just don't sign it!" he called after her, but it was too late. Beth Parson was already back in his bedroom, digging through the closet. 

***

Beth groped around in the back of her father's closet, pushing past the rows of slacks and shirts to get to the very far wall. Something landed on her hand and she withdrew it gently. A round brown bat hung from one extended finger. It twittered excitedly as it came into the light. 

"Hi, Mercator." 

Carefully, Beth carried the bat back to her bedroom and let it go on her desk, where it flapped around until finally perching itself upside-down from the cord of her alarm clock. 

She took out a piece of paper. Very carefully, she folded and tore a piece from the corner: a rectangle no longer or wider than her finger. She got out a quill pen and hunched over the paper, writing in her smallest print. 

_    Mom, Chris, and Lycaeon:   
    Hi! I just got my letter from Hogwarts. We start Sept. 1. This year I have Divination, which I hate, Care of Magical Creatures, D.A.D.A. (with someone new since Quirrell got killed last year), Transfig, Charms, Potions (yes!) and Arithmancy again. Love you and miss you.
_

She squinted down at what she had written. With a shrug, she went back and signed her name. Anyone who intercepted the message would know exactly who had sent it anyway, she reasoned. The dementors were inhuman, but not stupid. 

Picking up Mercator (who twittered in annoyance), she held him down gingerly as she Scotch-taped the scrap of paper to one thin leg. Then she carried him to the window and held him outside in the twilight. The bat rose out of her hand and fluttered around for a while before taking off toward the ocean. 

Beth closed the window and started putting away her supplies. It took about a day for Mercator to make the trip to Azkaban; he'd be back in two, without a reply from her mother and brothers, but bringing assurance that they were still in prison to receive it. 


	2. Back to Hogwarts

**Chapter Two: Back to Hogwarts**

The summer went quickly, and Beth did her best to make the most of it. She spent time with their ancient neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Scamander, who were like the grandparents she had never known; she went shopping with Bruce's family and had a wonderful time wandering up and down Diagon Alley; she read books in the shade in the August afternoons, and listened to the radio at night. Summer vacation was all right, but it was school that she was looking forward to: the classes, yes, but mostly the friends and fun that came with it. 

It was with an eager heart that she took the Floo network to London and boarded the Hogwarts Express at Platform Nine and Three Quarters at King's Cross Station. Before she knew it, she was sitting in a compartment on the train with Bruce and Melissa, chattering as if they hadn't been apart for more than a week. It had been over two months. 

"Oh, I thought of you every day in Italy," Melissa burbled, giving Beth a big hug. "I wish you could have seen it. The countryside was just gorgeous -- and the cities were so elegant!" 

"Sounds boring," said Bruce. He looked out the window at the landscape rushing past. "When's the food cart going to get here?" 

Melissa tossed her long black hair over her shoulder arrogantly. "You wouldn't have thought it boring if you'd been there. Anyhow, the food was also divine. I'm sure you'll find that interesting." 

"I just want some Every Flavor Beans," said Bruce, barely listening to her. "I got a lard-flavored one over the summer, and I want to see if I can find another one." 

"You are disgusting," said Melissa. 

"It's good to see you both again," said Beth, with a smile. 

The sliding door to the compartment opened, and two freckled boys peeked in. Their faces fell as they saw Beth and her friends. 

"Oh, it's _Slytherins_," they said derisively, just as Melissa snorted, "Oh good, the _Weasleys_ are here." 

Fred and George Weasley, fourth-year Gryffindors and all-around troublemakers, were red-haired and absolutely indistinguishable twin boys. Along with their dreadlocked friend Lee Jordan, their personal goal seemed to be to wreak as much havoc as they possibly could before graduation, and the more of it that fell on the Slytherins, the better. 

"What d'you lot want?" Bruce demanded. 

One of the twins scowled. "Nothing from you, we're looking for our little brother." 

"We'll let you know if we see any redheads in hand-me-downs," sniffed Melissa maliciously. 

"What a dirty --" a twin began, starting toward her, but Bruce was on his feet quicker than light. 

"Touch her and die," he growled in a low voice, fists cocked at his sides. 

The twins regarded him with open distaste. "Don't worry, we're not going to beat up your girlfriend," one of them sneered. "See you at the feast." They stalked out, identical looks of anger on their freckled faces. Beth wondered if they knew that Melissa's actual boyfriend, Galen Melhorn, was a Gryffindor just like them. 

Bruce watched them go with unconcealed hatred, and only sat down again after they were both gone and the door closed. "What a pair of prats," he grumbled. 

Melissa was looking at him in mock adoration. "My _hero_!" she warbled, hands clasped and eyes wide. 

Beth waved dismissingly. "That wasn't chivalry, Mel. Bruce is still peeved that they beat him at Quidditch last year." 

That earned her a bitter smile from Bruce. "They didn't beat us, they tricked us," he said. "Potter acting like his broomstick was jinxed. It won't happen this year. I don't care if he falls off, I'm playing through until they kick us off the field." Last year, Potter's broomstick had gone rogue halfway through the game. By the time he got control, everyone was completely distracted, and he had snagged the Golden Snitch on his way back down. It was popularly believed in Slytherin that it had all been a ploy. 

"You'll clobber them," Melissa promised. 

"Knock on wood," said Bruce. 

They spent the rest of the trip sharing summer anecdotes. Melissa had the best ones, but Bruce had been to a few Quidditch games and could tell stories about the people he had met at his local pitch. Beth felt a little outdone. She hadn't gone anywhere except a few day trips to the sea with her father, and one or two day trips with Mr. and Mrs. Scamander. Still, it was good to just listen to her friends talk. 

The Hogwarts express pulled up to Hogsmeade Station while it was still mostly light outside. The first-years gathered around the bushy-haired gamekeeper for their traditional cruise across the lake; the older students crammed into a caravan of horseless coaches. Beth, Bruce and Melissa got a coach right in front of the one with their friends, Aaron Pucey and Mervin Fletcher, and spent the trip up leaning out the windows yelling at one another. 

Along the wooded path; through the wide iron gates; up to the twisted, majestic spires of the castle. They disembarked the horseless carriages and moved up the stone stairs into the Great Hall. Here the students diverged into four directions, and seated themselves at four different tables: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Beth and her friends went to the farthest table with the other Slytherins. 

The ceiling, enchanted to look like the sky outside, swirled with thousands of clear stars. The high, vaulted room was lit with torches and chandeliers. 

Soon the enormous gamekeeper Hagrid ducked inside, followed by a whole flock of terrified-looking first-years. He made his way to the head table, and Professor McGonagall took charge of them. 

"This is my favorite part," Melissa said, watching the first-years excitedly. "They're so cute and scared!" 

The relative cuteness of any of them could have been questioned, but Melissa was right on one point: they all looked frightened out of their minds. When McGonagall left them to set up the Sorting Hat on its stool at the front of the hall, they looked none the better. 

"I love how they just let them stand there getting nervous," Beth said. 

Bruce leaned over and gave her a nudge. "Did you see who's at the head table?" 

Beth turned to look. Sitting with the prefects was Randall Riggs, the thin-faced, long-nosed, bespectacled secretary of the S.S.A. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. Clutched in one hand was a pen that Beth recognized as being magical: last year it had taken dictation during the Sorting Ceremony and in subsequent announcements. 

"Pay attention, it's starting!" hissed Melissa. 

McGonagall stood at the front of the room holding a parchment; it was the list of names of the students that would be starting that year. Riggs had set his magic pen on his napkin; it hovered upright, vibrating a little, and began to write as soon as McGonagall started to speak. 

"Atheby, Kevin!" 

A tiny brown-haired boy scuttled to the stool and stuffed the cap over his ears. 

"RAVENCLAW!" 

The Ravenclaw table erupted into applause, and Kevin Atheby scurried to join them. 

"We never get the first one," Melissa complained good-naturedly. 

She didn't have long to wait, however; third in line was "Bergeron, Oren." The hat cried "SLYTHERIN" almost before Oren could get it onto his head. The Slytherin table whooped enthusiastically. Smirking a little, he joined them at a bunch of empty seats on one end. 

There was a little while before "Grotch, Laura" was given over to the Slytherins. "Javins, John" and "Jones, Garret" followed in close succession. 

"Oh good, another girl," said Melissa, as "Kvortek, Catherine" was designated a Slytherin. She came over to wild applause and took a seat with the firsties. Beth watched as Laura Grotch leaned over to her. 

_She's just met her new best friend_, she thought. The idea was a little unnerving. Could friendship -- in fact, the next seven years -- be so dependant on these fifteen or so minutes of sorting? Obviously it could, and was; Beth looked over at Melissa, who was busy cheering new Slytherin "Lowell, Patricia", and wondered if they would have even met if they had been in different houses. 

There was "Metzengerstein, Ivan", a big-nosed and dark-haired kid; "Perlmutter, Curtis," who couldn't seem to stop smiling; "Smoot, Maximilian," who looked just as nervous after being sorted as before; and "Verona, Audra," who even at eleven showed signs of the grace and beauty she would eventually acquire. Before long the newbies were all sorted and seated; the hat was taken away once more. Dumbledore raised his hands for silence. 

"Before we engage in this delightful feast, I must say a few words. The wall will fall to the wind as the windy hill will fall, and all things thought in former times. Nothing made remains, nor man remembers -- and these towns shall be called the shining towns! Eat up!" 

He sat back down and food began to magically appear on the gold platters all along the table. Every kind of succulent dish Beth could remember eating was there: chicken Kiev, pork ribs, colorful salads, baked potatoes beef pie, and even an enormous cheese omelet. She ignored the omelet but stacked her plate up with the steaming dishes, and cheerfully dug in. 

It was such a relief to be back in the familiar castle, surrounded by friendly faces. Beth ate quietly, enjoying the conversations around her. 

Aaron Pucey was going on about the Ballycastle Bats. "Saw 'em ten times this summer," he bragged, spraying Bruce with half-chewed pork, "seven wins. Best thing that ever came out of Northern Ireland." 

"Did you see them beat Tutshill?" said Bruce eagerly. 

"Yeah, spectacular!" 

"I was at that one!" 

"No way! Did you see where the Tornados' Keeper was flacking and the referee didn't even call him?" 

"Bloody unfair, that was." 

"A crime." 

Melissa rolled her eyes at the two boys and nudged Beth in the arm. "Who's Mr. Beautiful at the head table?" 

Beth turned around to see where she was pointing. Between Professors Sinistra and Flitwick sat a handsome blonde wizard. He was somehow eating and smiling at the same time; Beth had the impression that he swallowed his food whole to avoid soiling his set of brilliant white teeth. He was gabbing gaily to Professor Sinistra, who seemed to be giggling quite a bit more than usual. 

Aaron stopped complaining about blind referees long enough to give Melissa a disdainful look. "Him? That's Gilligan Lockhart or something. Writes these self-help books, I think. Mum's half crazy over him." 

"Wonder what he's here for?" mumbled Bruce through a mouthful of omelet. 

Melissa snorted. "There's only one opening, isn't there? He's the new Quirrell." 

Beth looked again at the wizard. Now he was leaning over to display his brilliant teeth to Professor Vector, the arithmancy witch. Professor Sinistra looked rather miffed. "_He's_ going to teach us about the Dark Arts?" 

Melissa shrugged. "What else would it be? Unless he's here to give us all makeovers." 

"Sorry, just need these for a second." 

Richard Shaw had come over and snagged the plate of baked potatoes. Beth and Melissa exchanged a grin. There were magical messages hidden in two of the potatoes; this year's new S.S.A members would have them forced onto their plates in minutes by their future president, never mind what they thought of it. It was probably the strangest tradition in the club. 

Richard came back, without the potatoes, and took an empty seat beside Aaron. "Guess what the Gryffindors are saying," he said, wearing his I-have-a-secret grin. 

"Well?" 

"Harry Potter's not here." 

There was general disbelief. 

"Not here? He's not coming back?" 

"Did they leave him on the train?" 

"Oh my gosh, what if a Death Eater found him over the summer and --" 

"Did he transfer?" 

"Where are his friends, did they come back?" 

Richard shrugged. He was still beaming; there was nothing Richard liked more than being the first person to pass on interesting information. "All I know is that he's not at the Gryffindor table, and none of them know why." 

"Maybe he won't come back at all," said Bruce hopefully. Not only did he hold the general Slytherin grudge against Potter, who the previous year had snapped the House Cup from their grasp at the last minute, but the Quidditch match left him with an extra mote of bitterness. 

"We'd never be so lucky," said Melissa. "You can't shake the annoying ones." 

They spent an enjoyable meal speculating over how nice it would be if Potter never came back, and even better, if he had taken the whole Weasley clan with him. Eventually the unfinished food vanished from their platters, and Dumbledore once again stood up. The first-years all twisted in their seats to get a better look at him. Down the table, Riggs had taken out his magic pen again. 

"A few natterings before the beginning of the school year. First: we are pleased to welcome Gilderoy Lockhart as our new teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts." 

There was a round of intermittent applause, and one of the Weasley twins gave a long wolf-whistle. Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak again, but before the applause had even died out, Gilderoy Lockhart was on his feet and beaming around at the Great Hall. 

"Thank you! Thank you!" he exulted, showing all of his brilliant teeth. "I have to say, Albus, I'm excited about joining your little faculty. The students are in for a treat -- not that I'll be too easy on them!" he added roguishly, with a big wink. Waving around at them cheerily, he took his seat while calling, "Go on, don't let me interrupt your speech!" Beth noticed that Professor Vector was smiling up at him, but she was the only one. 

"Thank you," said Dumbledore, with a little smile. "Moving on -- first-years should be aware that the Forbidden Forest is, as implied, forbidden. Love Potions, sneaking around the castle after curfew and levitating in the halls are likewise illegal. Also, our caretaker Mr. Filch has asked me to warn you that anyone caught befouling the castle will be punished as far as his power to do so extends." 

Argus Filch sat at the head table, glaring out at the students as if each was his personal enemy. His scraggly gray cat, Mrs. Norris, wound around his feet vindictively. 

"Quidditch captains should see Madame Hooch for this year's schedule of games. First-years are reminded that they are not permitted to own their own broomsticks. If this rule is broken, the broomstick will be confiscated." 

Bruce muttered under his breath about a "little git Potter" who had been given special permission to have own broomstick the previous year. 

"And now -- since there are no further announcements -- we shall sing the school song!" He waved his wand above his head and a string of words floated from it, formulating the school song line by line. 

The entire Great Hall erupted into a cacophony of sound as every student sang the school song to their favorite tune, indiscriminately. This year, the Weasley twins had made up a little dance to go with it, and bobbed around at the Gryffindor table singing, "Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts!" 

When the song was done, they were dismissed, and the hall divided into four swarms of people moving toward the common rooms. The Slytherin exodus was headed up by Riggs. "This week's password is 'esoteric'," he announced fussily. 

"I'll say," drawled Draco Malfoy. 

When the climbed into the Slytherin room through its secret door behind a blank stone wall, the group dissipated by gender and class. Some of the first-years hung around the common room uncertainly, admiring the high-backed chairs and low green lamps, until Riggs pointed out the directions of their bedrooms. A few upperclassmen gathered by the fire to catch up on summer conquests, but for the most part, they trundled upstairs and went straight to bed. 

Beth was exhausted from the train ride and full from the feast. It was no time at all before she lay snuggled in her bed with the canopies drawn. Before she drifted into a deep and unbroken sleep, she thought how nice it was to be back -- where she had friends to talk to, classes to learn in, house elves to clean for her, and teachers to protect her. The solid walls and turrets of Hogwarts had become her home, and as much as she loved Dorset, it was always wonderful to return. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

[**Author's Note**] Dumbledore's start-of-feast blather is a poem (beautiful, IMHO) from John Gardner's novel Grendel. Notably, Grendel is itself fan fiction, for while a classic novel in its own right, it is a retelling of the epic poem of Beowulf from the POV of the villain. It's pretty philosphical (read: whacked out) but I would highly recommend it anyway. 


	3. Classes and Quidditch

**Chapter Three: Classes and Quidditch**

Beth drifted out of sleep into a world that was still dark. She yawned and stretched, then rolled over and lay there for several minutes, unwilling to leave her warm bed. She could hear the birds chirping, even though it was so early -- 

She sat bolt-upright in bed. It was only dark because she had the canopies drawn! Wrenching open the curtains around her bed, she fell out in a tangle as she realized that she was the only one left in her dormitory. 

Oversleeping on the first day! she thought in despair, as she threw on her school robes, splashed water in her face and made a few hopeless passes at her blonde mane of hair. Five frenzied minutes later, she was tearing down the corridor with her bookbag bouncing on her back. She reeled into the Great Hall and saw with relief that breakfast was still going on. She drew a deep breath and joined Bruce and Melissa at the Slytherin table. 

"Where were you?" demanded Bruce. He sat behind a huge pile of kippers and was eating as if he'd never seen scrambled eggs before. 

"Overslept. Why didn't you wake me up?" Beth turned on Melissa, who was bent over the class schedule that lay open on the table beside her. 

"Sorry, I thought you'd get up for yourself," Melissa sniffed, offended. "Besides, I hate waking you up, you're so cranky in the morning. Here, Professor Snape came through with your schedule already." She handed Beth her schedule with one hand and daintily picked at her porridge with the other. "We have Potions and Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors _again_. They're like a curse." 

"Godric Gryffindor's parting shot to Salazar Slytherin," Beth agreed. She picked out a few of the crisper-looking slices of bacon before looking over her schedule. It included Charms, Transfiguration, Divination, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Care of Magical Creatures, as well as her favorite classes, Potions and Arithmancy. "Thanks for picking this up. I don't know if Snape ever forgave me for making him come to get Rich and me in London last year." 

"A word, Miss Parson?" 

Beth looked up and found herself face-to-face with Professor Snape, head of the Slytherin house and Hogwarts potions master. "Uh -- all right," said Beth nervously. Snape moved away, so she stood up and followed him a few feet away from the table. There she stood, anxiously twisting her schedule, wondering if she was going to get yelled at again for something she'd done three months ago. 

However, the glower that Snape wore was no worse than his usual expression, and Beth even detected a hint of excitement behind his cold, dark eyes. "Your aptitude in Arithmancy and Potions has not gone unnoticed," he began. 

Pleasantly surprised, Beth felt her cheeks grow warm. 

"It's not often that students choose to follow up in both fields, but this year there are several, yourself included. Over the summer, Professor Vector and I have worked to put together a course on the relationship between our classes. Basic Alchemy. It's not important for those who only intend to use or alter potions, but it's vital to those who wish to go on to create them. Headmaster Dumbledore himself is considered an expert alchemist, and fully approves of the project. Your course background makes you eligible to take the class. Are you interested?" 

Misinterpreting her hesitation, he added, "It will take the place of one of your elective courses." 

"Sounds good," said Beth, still a little surprised. "Can I drop Divination?" 

Professor Snape's thin lips came together in a mild expression of amusement. "Excellent choice." 

"Great!" she said, more enthusiastically. "Yeah, I'd love to take it. When's it meet?" 

"Wednesdays, starting this week," Professor Snape said. "You'll report to room seven thirty-five at eleven o'clock today. I will have a new schedule prepared for you by tomorrow morning. Without Divination," he added with a smile. "I look forward to having you in class, Miss Parson. I trust you will make the most of it." 

He swept away, to leave Beth standing in the Great Hall, beaming like it was her birthday. 

"What did he want?" inquired Melissa, as Beth came back to her seat beet-red and smiling. 

She explained the class excitedly. Melissa looked mildly jealous that she had been passed over for an academic honor, but recognized that she was ineligible without Arithmancy. Bruce, buried in his breakfast, was unimpressed. 

"So you get to take another impossibly hard course?" he demanded, his mouth full of kippers. "I reckon you're right, Beth -- Snape _is_ still mad at you for last year." 

Beth stuck her tongue out at him. Then for good measure she threw her napkin at him too. 

"Bletchley, hope you've been practicing!" a deep voice boomed over them. Marcus Flint, captain of the Quidditch team, came up and pounded Bruce on the shoulder in a gesture of masculine camaraderie. He was large and bulky, but Beth knew from watching him fly that it was all muscle. His grades were abysmal -- in fact, he was repeating his sixth year after failing the year before -- but he'd led the Slytherins to victory in the past four consecutive seasons. 

"Every day," Bruce promised eagerly. Beth noted with some amusement how Bruce's voice deepened when he was around the other players. 

The flutter of wings filled the hall as a flock of mail-carrying owls swarmed through the high windows, bearing packages and letters to the students. A largish package landed farther down the table in front of Draco Malfoy (sweets from home, no doubt; that boy had a larger collection of chocolate than anyone else Slytherin, but he was still the smallest boy in his grade). Another dropped near Aaron Pucey, a few seats down from Beth. He dug into it eagerly -- then his face fell. "It's my schoolbooks," he said, disappointed. "I thought my parents wouldn't notice this year." Their job finished, the owls flocked away as quickly as they had come. 

"So Bletchley, we need to talk --" Marcus began, but he was interrupted by an unearthly commotion from the Gryffindor table. The sound of a thousand mothers all giving their loudest, most furious lectures echoed through the hall and totally drowned out everything else. Beth put her fingers in her ears and cringed, although she could still make out the gist of the cries: "YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU!" 

Melissa, holding her hands over her ears beside Beth, was actually grinning. "Someone got a Howler," she mouthed. They looked back to see who it was, but either the culprit was good at keeping a straight face or was hiding under the table. 

"... WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME!!!" The tirade ended on a ringing note and fell off, leaving the hall in complete silence. Laughing, the students uncovered their ears and went back to eating. 

"It was the little Weasley!" Melissa reported excitedly, twisted all the way around in her seat. "Look, he's blushing!" 

"Oh no," said Beth, looking at the Gryffindor table, "Potter's back." 

"Yeah! Did you hear what he did last night?" Beth shook her head. "Him and the little Weasley drove a flying car into the Whomping Willow! They've been telling the story all over the place, you must have just missed it! Is Professor Sprout ever mad," she added, with a glint in her eye. 

The bell to start classes rang, and everyone stood up and started to gather their things. "I'll be there in a minute, I need to see Marcus," Bruce called after them hastily, as Beth and Melissa started toward Care of Magical Creatures. He and Marcus walked away slowly, heads bent together. Around them, confused first-years milled in packs, wondering which way to go. Riggs bore down on them like a thin, fussy bat and started pointing and talking as quickly as he could. 

The Care of Magical Creatures classroom was decorated in horns, eggshells, skins, and bones of all kinds of fantastic beasts. Bruce claimed that the stuff in there was worth the entire Potions storeroom. Beth didn't know about that, but it made for something interesting to look at when class started to drag. Not that this was a problem -- Professor Kettleburn, bald, boisterous, and rugged, liked keeping students on their toes. 

"The last thing I need is Gryffindors first thing in the morning," Melissa murmured to Beth, as they took seats side by side. On the opposite part of the room, the Gryffindors were hunched together in a suspicious little knot. "I don't trust it when they all huddle like that." 

"At least they're not making nasty remarks yet," Beth muttered back. 

Bruce dashed into class and took his seat behind Melissa and beside Aaron Pucey. He looked troubled. "That lousy Oliver Wood booked the Quidditch field for Saturday morning," he said in a low voice, leaning in to their group of four. "He's going to start them practicing already. Marcus was going to get it for tryouts but it was already taken. He's going to see if Snape can get the Gryffindors kicked out by mid-morning at least, but that means we have to move up the tryouts to this afternoon if we want to get started before them." 

Aaron's eyes lit up as they only did when in the presence of two Bludgers and a Quaffle. "This afternoon!" he repeated, both excited and frustrated. "We just _got_ here!" 

"Right, so pass it on." Bruce sat back in his seat as Professor Kettleburn strode into the room and slammed the door behind him. 

Professor Kettleburn was, at first glance, an intimidating man. A lacework of scars proved his extensive experience with fantastic creatures of all kinds. He was completely bald and his face was hastily shaved, giving him a perpetually grizzled look. His most unusual feature, however, was the fact that his left hand had been lost and replaced with a wooden cylinder that held his wand in its place. The rumor was that he had lost the hand to a manticore in the Middle East. His height and bearing only added to the impression that he was used to having his orders followed. 

"Good morning!" he barked, throwing a battered textbook down on the desk before him. "Glad to see you all. Sort of hoped you'd be in two different sections this year, but very well ..." 

That actually aroused a nervous laugh. The Gryffindors and Slytherins, traditional enemies, had regularly fought in class for the entire previous year. Beth and her friends had, in fact, taken on the Weasleys and Jordan in February. 

Kettleburn leaned over the table toward them, his voice a low growl. "We've got a fair bit to cover this year ... Dumbledore's asked me to do some work on beings, along with the beasts. Merfolk, centaurs, werewolves, all that sort. Right, so we'll be studying in here for a week or so. Centaurs!" he barked, and nearly everyone jumped. "Who's ever met 'em?" 

Only a few students raised their hands, Melissa included. 

"Lucky, they're a secretive lot. There's a fair few in the Forbidden Forest, but darned if they every show their faces to us humans. Quills out!" he growled, and everyone jumped again. 

The class scrambled to get out their supplies. The rest of the class was spent taking notes on the habits of centaurs, a strangely fascinating subject. Still, it was unlike Kettleburn to spend a whole period solely on lecture, and Beth was relieved when the bell rang to change classes. 

Her relief faded as she realized it was time for her first Alchemy class. 

The classroom was seven flights up and at the end of a narrow, abandoned hallway. Up there the crowds were thinner; she was the only one in the corridor when she finally made it to the classroom. She checked the room number (twice) to make sure she was in the right place; then, drawing a breath, went in. 

Three students were already there. She recognized Cedric Diggory, the handsome but lackluster Hufflepuff, but the other two -- a girl with curly hair and a round-faced boy -- were strangers. They all looked older than her, even though she knew Diggory was in the same year that she was. Self-conscious, Beth sat a bit apart from them. 

Cedric looked around. "This isn't it, is it, Steb?" 

The round-faced boy shook his head. "Can't be. They wouldn't have two professors for four students. Ruddy inefficient." 

"Professor Vector told me there were twenty-three on the rolls," said the curly-haired girl. Her uniform indicated that she was a Ravenclaw, and she wore the silver badge of a prefect. "All different years." 

They all looked back at Beth. She nervously grinned back. 

Gradually the classroom filled up. The Ravenclaw girl had been right: there were representatives from every house, and from every year from fourth up. Soon Professors Vector and Snape came in together, Snape tall and looming, Vector pudgy and effusive. Vector was levitating a large stack of books in front of her. 

"All right now, come up an' get your textbooks," she crooned, her Scottish accent as quirky as ever. "We'll get 'em to ye all on loan, I know ye hadn't the chance ta purchase 'em. Just keep 'em in one piece for the year, that's a good sort." She let the books fall on the desk. "One at a time now, no shovin'." 

The textbooks, _A Brief Introduction to Alchemy_ by Nicolas Flamel, were battered and dog-eared. Beth opened hers and a cloud of dust billowed out of it. When they all had their books and were back in their seats, Professor Snape swept to the front of the room. There was a rustling as everyone got out their quills and parchments. 

"I trust," he began softly, "that everyone in this room is by now well aware of the expectations of Professor Vector and myself. You have all proven your aptitude in both the fine art of potions and the exact reasoning required of arithmancy. You will need those skills here -- and some measure of adaptability as well." 

_Some measure of adaptability_, Beth wrote on her paper. 

"That being said, let's start with a riddle of sorts. If you wanted to mix a basic shrinking spell, Stebbins, but you had no rat liver, how would you proceed?" 

The round-faced boy looked up at him. "I -- might replace it with an ingredient I had on hand." 

"Like what?" pressed Snape. 

"Well -- some goats' whiskers might work -- I remember we made that replacement once in class." 

"Excellent. Five points to Hufflepuff. Now, does anyone know why that would work?" The curly-haired girl raised her hand. "Miss Clearwater?" 

"Their properties are the same?" 

"A close guess. Or perhaps I should say: what exactly makes them interchangeable?" 

No one else ventured a guess. _What makes them interchangeable?_ wrote Beth. 

"And what ratio would one use in a replacement brew?" 

Still no answer. 

Professor Vector beamed at them. "That's what we're gonna teach ye, then. Ye'll have Professor Snape every other class and for your lab practical. First one's next Wednesday, don't go fergettin' your cauldrons. Books open to page three, I'll start you off with some theory." 

Professor Snape made a slight bow to her, and left her to teach the first lesson. 

Beth's head started swimming about halfway through the lecture and didn't stop until Professor Vector announced, "That's homework problems, odd numbers, one to twenty-three in chapter one. No copyin', they're due Monday. Have ye a good weekend, dears." 

They stumbled out of class, feeling laden. 

"This is going to be impossible," the Hufflepuff, Stebbins, moaned on the way out. "Why did we do it, Penny?" 

"We're idiots," said the curly-haired girl. "I've got two Snape classes this year. I must have been asleep when I scheduled." 

"I must have been _drugged_," said Cedric Diggory. Beth found herself thinking that the class would be a lot less scary if she, too, had someone to joke with about how hard it was going to be. 

***

The fourth-years met up again at lunch, after their morning classes were over. 

"Going to come watch the Quidditch trials?" asked Bruce, with his mouth full of beef stroganoff. 

Beth shook her head. "I wish I could. We got loads of homework off Alchemy. Twelve problems. It's going to be a beast. There are all kinds of upperclassmen in the class too, and I think only two or three Slytherins. I've got to work this afternoon." 

"Well, at least the common room will be quiet. Every boy in Slytherin is going to be trying out for Seeker." 

Melissa bristled. "Why does it have to be a boy? Can't a girl play Seeker?" 

Bruce looked up at her, amazed. "Well, sure -- I guess -- but I can't remember the last time there was a girl on the Slytherin team." 

Interrupting hastily, Beth said, "Marcus wouldn't keep someone out just because she's a girl. The trials are totally impartial. Right, Bruce?" 

Bruce nodded, but Melissa let out a humph that clearly indicated her disbelief. 

"Going to come watch, Melissa?" Aaron Pucey asked, sliding into place beside them. He had apparently gotten out of Muggle Studies late. 

"If you're allowing girls near the field," Melissa replied scathingly. 

Aaron balked. "Uh -- yeah --" he stammered, scooping some stroganoff. "It's going to be packed this year, with the Seeker position open and all," he said, moving his focus to Beth. "I've been practicing all summer. Adrian's been helping me with my flying." Aaron's big brother had been on the Quidditch team for years as a star Chaser. 

"I ... thought Madame Pomfrey said you wouldn't have the grip to play, after last year," Beth said carefully. 

Aaron shrugged. "I don't, really, but I've been working with the other hand. All this one has to do is hang on to my broom." He waggled the fingers of his right hand; they moved a little too slowly and stiffly. 

"Just make sure it does," Beth said severely. "Get hurt again, and who knows how you'll end up." 

"It's worth it, to be on the team a year," said Aaron, and the sudden fervency that swept over his face was frightening. 

Afterward Beth went back to the common room with her Alchemy book. Everyone else had gone down to the Quidditch pitch to watch the trials -- it was almost as good as a real game -- so the common room was empty and quiet. She opened her book to the first set of homework. 

"How many ounces of asphodel would it take to replace one gram of crushed unicorn hoof?" she read aloud, carefully copying the problem over to her parchment. "I don't know, Mr. Nicolas Flamel, why don't you tell me?" She leafed back to chapter one and started browsing for an answer. 

It turned out to be harder than it looked. First she had to figure out what kind of question it was; then find out what it was asking for; then find an equation for it; and finally, look up the properties of both substances in the extensive tables in the back of the book. It took almost twenty minutes to do the first problem. She finished it triumphantly ... then groaned. 

"Eleven more to go." 

She was only through the first five when the doors of the common room burst open and students started piling in, clamoring excitedly. 

"Quidditch trials are over," she muttered to herself, and hunched down in her chair. 

The chattering students swarmed around the common room. Beth could barely pick out their conversations: "... give him a few years ..." "Did you see that snag, though?" "Pucey looked disappointed." 

_Oh no_, thought Beth, _Aaron didn't make it again_. She grinned wistfully. He'd be in a bad mood for months. 

Melissa and Bruce came in and fought their way to the crowd. "Guess what!" squealed Melissa, just as Beth was saying, "How was it?" 

Bruce was grinning from ear to ear. "Made Keeper again. It's Marcus, Uther, and Adrian back as Chasers -- all returning -- they're stellar, the lot of them. We're almost all returning players." 

"What about the Seeker?" asked Beth. "He'll be new." 

Bruce rolled his eyes a bit. "New's the word for it." 

Melissa elbowed him. "Don't be snide," she ordered. "It was phenomenal. He's little, he's fast, he's got a good eye, and he's going to be with us for years. A second-year actually beat out everybody else for Seeker." 

"Who is it?" said Beth impatiently. 

"Draco Malfoy." Melissa looked as proud as if he was her own little brother. "I told you he'd amount to something. Didn't I? Right at his Sorting last year. It was incredible. About three of them saw the Snitch at the same time -- him, Aaron and that Derrick kid -- and they all go barreling toward it ..." 

"Aaron knocked a kid off his broom," Bruce added. "Fell at least ten feet. He's got a broken ankle. So they're all getting close ... the crowd's on its feet ... Draco's ahead, and Derrick's behind, him, so --" 

"So what's Draco do, but kick Derrick in the arm!" Melissa squealed delightedly. "Derrick goes spinning out of control, hits Aaron, they both go crashing to the ground, and Draco grabs the Snitch in a twenty-foot climb! Incredible bit of flying!" 

Beth laughed in disbelief. "And Marcus didn't have a problem with the fact that he fouled out the other two to win?" 

"Nope, it was the other way around," said Bruce with a grin. "He was thrilled. Probably hopes he'll do that to Potter. So we've a new Seeker. Hope he does us good." 

"He will," said Melissa staunchly. "Mark my words." 

Beth shook her head. "I wish I'd been there." 

"Me too." 

Aaron Pucey had come up behind Bruce. He was a mess. His shirt was smeared with mud, and there was blood all over his face; it seemed to have sprung from his nose. 

Beth's mouth fell open. "What happened to you?" she asked, and realized immediately that she could have been more tactful. Then she realized that Aaron didn't look upset: in fact, he was smiling. 

"Took a Bludger to the face," he said, looking down at his feet. "Marcus reckons my nose isn't broken. It bled a fair bit, though." 

"That's not the whole story," scoffed Bruce. "He took a Bludger to the face and _kept on playing_. He took out everybody except Warrington in the Beater trials, and you know Warrington's massive. Marcus was doubly impressed." 

"So, wait," said Beth, with growing delight. "You made Beater?" 

Aaron nodded humbly. 

"Congratulations!" 

He smiled, looking shy. 

"It's going to be a tough year," he said softly. "I'd better go get cleaned off." 

Aaron turned and went to his dormitory, muddy, bloody, and grinning from ear to ear. 

He was still grinning the next morning. 

"I can't wait for the season to start," he babbled excitedly, on the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts. All shyness at his position had worn off; now he couldn't stop talking about it. "We're going to kill 'em. Marcus is a genius, and I've seen some of his new defense strategies -- you know, all the defensive players are fourth-years --" Here he elbowed Bruce hard in the ribs, who clutched his chest and glared back. "And Draco's going to be a crack Seeker. You should see how the kid flies --" 

"I was _there_, Aaron," said Bruce through gritted teeth. 

Undaunted, Aaron went on. "It's going to be a super year. We've got seven great guys --" 

Melissa whirled on him. "Seven guys, do you?" she snapped. "Better than six guys and a _girl_, isn't it? Better to keep the team _untainted_, right?" 

Aaron gaped at her. "Uh -- well not necessarily -- I mean after all --" 

"Go on, say it." 

"Well, we _are_ bigger than the other teams --" 

It was the worst thing he could have said. Melissa stormed off, flipping her long black hair behind her. Aaron turned to Beth in amazement. 

"What's she on about?" 

"Women's lib. Come on, you can apologize in class." 

He never got the chance. Melissa remained tight-lipped through Transfiguration, and afterward they parted ways to go to their elective classes. Aaron and Bruce were still in Herbology; Mervin and Melissa had taken Ancient Runes; Beth was in Arithmancy, the only Slytherin in her grade. She sat alone in a classroom full of Ravenclaws and tried to follow Professor Vector, the arithmancy witch, describing the difference between real and imaginary numbers. Things were all right until a boy in the back asked if they were imaginary numbers, why they counted at all, and after that Professor Vector became irritable. 

"Why d' they count?" she snorted in disbelief. "They're _numbers_, Davies. They always count." 

"But if they're fake --" Roger Davies protested. 

Mercifully, the bell rang before the argument got out of hand, but that didn't stop Professor Vector from assigning them an essay. 

"Five hundred words on the value of imaginary numbers," she snapped, as they filed out the door. "Make it good, Davies." 

Roger Davies shook his head. "I'm not in Arithmancy because I like to write essays," he muttered to one of his Ravenclaw friends. "I like to solve problems. With numbers. _Real_ ones." 

Beth had to agree. 


	4. Gilderoy Lockhart

**Chapter Four: Gilderoy Lockhart**

"Guess what tonight is?" Melissa sang, on their way to Defense Against the Dark Arts on Thursday. 

Beth racked her brain. "You and Galen are going out?" 

"No, don't be silly!" Melissa hit her gently on the arm. "It's the first meeting of the you-know-what. At eleven, remember?" 

"Oh, right." Beth glanced around nervously; the S.S.A. was not to be discussed in public. If anyone knew what they had been up to -- and what they had gotten away with -- in the fifty-two years of the club's existence, they would all be expelled. "It's newbie night." 

"Who are they again?" 

Beth shrugged. "We'll find out soon enough. Right now I'm more interested in what the new D.A.D.A. prof's going to be like." 

"We'll find that out even sooner." They went into the classroom and paused in the doorway. The room was a shambles; desks and chairs were overturned, chandeliers swung in wide arcs, and there was broken glass all over the floor. At the front of the room was a cage full of what appeared to be electric blue bolts of lightening. 

"Pixies," said Melissa, looking at the cage. 

"What have they done?" said Beth, looking at the chaos. 

Eventually the rest of the Slytherins filtered in and went to work setting the furniture upright before taking their seats. They had been in class together almost every day for the past three years; by now they had a seating arrangement that hardly ever changed. 

"This place is trashed," said Bruce gleefully, from Beth's right. "Bet you money the Gryffindors were in here just before us." 

"All right, you're on. A Sickle." 

"Just a Sickle?" 

"I'm poor, deal with it." 

The door swung open and the professor strode in. He was tall and handsome, with wavy blonde hair which was perfectly complemented by his brilliant turquoise robes. There again was the extraordinary smile that Beth had noticed at the start-of-term feast. He was absolutely beaming from ear to ear. 

"Well! I'm sure I don't need to tell anyone, but just in case, I'm Gilderoy Lockhart, best-selling author and five-time winner of the Witch Weekly most-charming-smile award!" He flashed his grin to prove it and rubbed his hands together eagerly. "What do we have here, fourth years, Slytherins, eh? Don't mind telling you, that's my old house, you know! But I'd better not be giving away test answers!" He whipped out a stack of papers and started handing them around. "I hope you can all stand up to a little pretest. Find out where you stand now, so we can get things rolling, eh?" 

"What happened in here?" demanded Aaron Pucey. 

Lockhart finished passing out the papers. "Just some Cornish pixies I've brought for show. The second-years demanded I let them out -- but they didn't handle them quite as well as they expected, did they?" He laughed indulgently. "But then that's what you'd expect from Gryffindors, isn't it?" 

Bruce nudged Beth, who dug in her pocket and handed him a Sickle. 

"Well!" Lockhart said again, now at the front of the room. "No more chit-chat, let's get down to the test." 

Beth looked at her paper. The first question read: "What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?" She let out a little snort and started flipping through the pages of the test. All of the questions were similar: it went from, "What is Gilderoy Lockhart's mother's maiden name?" to, "If Gilderoy Lockhart was a tree, what color would his leaves turn in the autumn?" 

_I'm going to have some fun with this_, Beth thought. Tapping her quill against the table, she dipped it in her inkwell and wrote: 

"An evergreen, because just as the pine tree never loses its color, he never loses his charm." 

As the questions got stranger, so did her answers. She was having such a good time that she was surprised when Lockhart announced, "All right, pass 'em on in and let's see what you have!" 

Reluctantly, Beth passed her test to the front. She had been on an especially good essay detailing Lockhart's hairdo. 

Professor Lockhart collected the papers and stood at the front of the room flipping through them. "Tut-tut -- no one recalled my secret dream? _Gadding with Ghouls_, chapter ten." 

"To win the Witch Weekly smile award another five times," whispered Melissa. 

"He'll have to do better that that," Beth whispered back. 

At the front of the room, Lockhart's smile was gradually fading. "Ahem -- I see that no one recalled my greatest triumph -- although there are some, eh, interesting guesses ... Good heavens!" He flipped to the front of a test paper. "Bocephus Warrington, you know perfectly well that's not my mother's maiden name! Five points from Slytherin!" 

Warrington covered a smile. "Worth it," he muttered to Aaron. 

By now Lockhart was positively scowling, flipping through the tests more and more quickly. He slammed them down on the desk; then, with a great effort, he collected himself and adopted a jovial, if slightly forced, smile. "Aha. Well, can't expect you all to have memorized all of my best-selling books yet. But we have all year to work on that!" He gave them a wink. 

"Now -- I have here a creature that may strike terror in the weaker-made -- a mercenary of the Dark Arts --" He flung his hand toward the cage of electric blue pixies as if he were a ringmaster. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies!" 

There was a smattering of ill-concealed snickers. 

"They may look small and weak," Lockhart went on, in a threatening stage voice, "but I assure you, they are not to be trifled with! You can see what they've done, when improperly handled!" He gestured around at the torn-up room. "In the interest of safety, I won't be releasing them again -- they're vicious beasts!" 

"What do they do?" asked Aaron, face contorting as he struggled to hold back a smirk. 

Lockhart raised his eyebrows menacingly. "What they do," he whispered, "is wreak havoc -- they bite, pinch, swarm, and harm. They're a dark creature if I ever saw one -- and I've seen a few, as anyone who's read _Walking with Werewolves_ can tell you!" He laughed heartily. 

Antigone Von Dervish joined his laughter. She was an attractive and very snobby girl, with a sheet of blonde hair down her back and a special way of filling out her sweaters. Melissa looked over at her and rolled her eyes. 

"Now!" said Lockhart, looking substantially more at ease, "On to class! Quills out, everyone, while I read about one harrowing encounter with Cornish pixies from my best-seller, _Voyages with Vampires_!" 

He picked up a book from the desk and proceeded to give them a dramatic reading from his own book. Beth just watched him, shaking her head. He had no idea that the only one paying any attention was Antigone. Aaron started passing notes to Bruce and Warrington. Mervin, the boy with a lot of red hair, fell asleep on his arm. Beth started doodling caricatures of Lockhart in her margins; he was a smile on legs. 

"Finally, the flock was collared -- a daunting task, but another days' work for a man who dedicates his life to stamping out the Dark Arts in all its many, horrible forms!" Lockhart closed the book with a snap. Mervin woke up with a start, biting back cries of pain as "pins and needles" set in. Warrington hid a note under his book. 

Mervin raised his hand. His face was full of a deep suspicion. 

"You with the hair!" called Lockhart cheerfully. 

Mervin scowled. "Take off your hat." 

"What?" 

"Take off your hat," Bruce repeated, "and turn around slowly." 

Lockhart laughed nervously. "Now, I don't know what you are all up to ..." he began. 

"Just do it," said Melissa seriously. 

Lockhart put down the book and slowly removed his pointed hat, spinning around once. "Satisfied?" He suddenly broke into a large grin. "Aha -- I think I see --" 

"He heard about Quirrell," muttered Beth. 

"You're all anxious to see if I really could begin my own line of hair-care products! Let me assure you, when it comes to follicles I know what I'm doing!" He laid a finger to his nose. "Not that I'll be revealing any secrets!" 

The bell rang. 

"For next time, give me an essay on the five most clever aspects of my fight against the Floogleton Flock of pixies, and no copying now!" Lockhart called, as they hurried to gather their things. They rushed from class, finally blurting the snide comments that had been stewing in every one of them for the past hour. 

"His mother's maiden name! Warrington, you're genius!" 

"The one where he asked what he wanted for Christmas, I put, a test that wasn't about himself!" 

Antigone bustled past, her nose in the air. "Really, you're heathens, the lot of you." 

"Someone's got a crush on someone ..." Melissa muttered gleefully. 

"Who cares?" Beth laughed. "This is going to be the most bizarre class ever. What did you put for the tree question?" 

Bruce grinned. "His leaves would turn blue, to match his gorgeous eyes." 

Beth snorted back laughter. "That test was a bad idea. I'd kill to see some of the answers." 

"Can't," said Bruce jovially. "I saw him setting fire to them as we left." 

***

That night the S.S.A. members stayed up in anticipation of their first meeting. It had been a long day of classes, and Beth was still trying to get used to waking up so early. She curled in a high-backed chair by the fire and tried not to doze off until eleven o'clock. Still, her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and she snuggled down farther into the chair. It was so comfortable, and so warm here ... 

Someone nudged her shoulder, and she reluctantly opened her eyes. It was Melissa. "Come on, it's eleven," she muttered. "Some of them have already left. You were really out cold." Scraping the sleepy-dirt from her eyes, Beth slowly uncurled and stood. They left the common room silently and began the trek through the dark halls toward the S.S.A. headquarters: the Vase Room. 

Before long they had crept to a dead-end hallway. "I can't believe we didn't see Filch," said Beth in an undertone. "He's always out prowling at this time of night." 

"Just be grateful," Melissa whispered back. Then, she faced the wall and enunciated, "Ouch! My toe!" in a startlingly loud voice. A bead of light appeared on the wall and traced a rectangular shape. A doorknob appeared in the wall; Beth grabbed it, pulled, and went inside the secret chamber. 

The Vase Room got its name from the dozens of vases, pots, and cauldrons that filled the floor. Some loomed high as the ceiling; others cluttered the shelves along the curved walls. They came in every shape and color. What space they didn't take up was given over to lots of low couches, a single armchair, and a wooden podium. Upon the podium rested the Ledger, an enormous dusty tome filled with information about the members, past and present, and the mysteries of the castle. 

Almost as fascinating as the decorations were the members themselves, who now lounged around chatting about their summers. Vivian Sicklewise, a seventh-year with long brown hair, had laid claim to a low divan and sprawled across it, laughing with her classmate Daedalus Dellinger. Uther Montague was idly twirling a Quaffle on the end of his finger, then lazily tossing it into the air and catching it again. Beth and Melissa went and sat on a few cushions on the floor. 

"... so I'd lock the door, transform, and sneak out through the mouse-hole," Daedalus was saying, his hands behind his head. "Loads of fun. Except I should have tried to be a little bigger -- you'd never guess how many things like to eat snakes, even ones my size." 

"Three feet long isn't exactly an anaconda," Vivian said. 

Daedalus had spent years learning to be an Animagus, a wizard who could turn into an animal at will. Only the previous year had he finally succeeded in becoming a long green snake with a brown stripe down its back. 

"Did you ever register?" asked Melissa curiously. 

Daedalus shook his head. "Too much paperwork. Besides, I figure it's more useful to have a trick up my sleeve." 

"Dell, our resident illegal Animagus," Vivian laughed. "Every group's got one." 

The door blasted open. 

Bruce and Mervin darted inside, panting, and slammed the door. "Sorry," Mervin gasped, his hand over his heart. "Mrs. Norris came around. We had to make a break for it." 

"That stupid cat!" Uther swore. "She gave me the dirtiest look the other night. You'd swear she had a brain, and hated us all." 

Vivian was standing up now, and went to stand behind the Ledger. "That's all of us then. All right, the first meeting of the S.S.A. is called to order. All we have to go over is setting up some training, and talk about who's watching the second-years. We need somebody to make the rings, someone else to enchant them, and somebody to make the notes. Who's up for it?" 

"I'll make the rings," Bruce said quickly. Beth could see why he wanted the job. He would be working with Uther, a fellow Quidditch team member, and Bruce always enjoyed building things. 

Melissa cast a glance at Mervin. "Let me enchant them, then," she said, looking at Daedalus. "It sounds complicated." 

Daedalus shrugged. "I've seen worse." 

"All right, who's on the notes?" Vivian interjected. "Beth or Mervin, it's got to be one of you." 

Visions of Alchemy bounced around Beth's head; there was no way she was going to volunteer. Mervin caught her close-jawed look and raised his hand a little grudgingly. "I'll do it." 

"Great," Vivian smiled. "Thank you all. We don't need them until next year at this time, but it's a complicated process, so you'd better start learning as soon as possible. Bruce especially -- if history is any indication, you're bound to screw up a few rings before getting them right." 

Uther looked injured. "I say, Viv, I didn't lose more than three or four of 'em." 

"Seven or eight," she corrected primly, "and you burnt yourself to boot. Moving on," she continued, with a severe glance at Uther, "stalking assignments. As the older ones know, we spend the whole year watching the second-years, so that we can make an informed decision when we pick next year's new members. Rich and I tried to match you up with people that have similar interests, background, things like that." She dug in the pocket of her robes and came up with a handful of papers. "Here are your assignments. Girls for girls, boys for boys. Sorry, Dell, none for you." 

"Shucks," grinned Daedalus, putting his hands behind his head. 

One by one, Vivian handed out slips of parchment to each of the members. Beth looked at the parchment in her hand. "Blaise Zabini," she read aloud. Beth recognized the name: it belonged to a dark-haired girl in the second year, who spent a lot of time around Draco Malfoy. 

"Look, we can work together!" Melissa said, pleased. Her paper read 'Pansy Parkinson', who at least appeared to be Blaise's best friend. "Who got Draco Malfoy?" 

"Me," said Uther lazily. "He's the Seeker, you know. I'll be seeing a lot of him." 

"Charming boy," Melissa beamed. "He's got my vote already." 

"Who's Morag MacDougal?" Mervin demanded, waving his piece of parchment in the air. "Is he even in our house?" 

"I swear he's a Slytherin," promised Vivian. 

Just then the door to the Vase Room opened and a pair of boys came slowly inside, gazing around at the opulent vases littered around the room. Beth remembered seeing one of them before, but couldn't place his name; the other was a complete stranger. The one that she recognized was short and slender, a Seeker's build, with slick black hair that fell in his eyes. He looked as if he were trying not to be impressed. The other, with curly brown hair, made no attempt to conceal his astonishment, and gaped around open-mouthed at the lavish decor. 

Richard and Riggs followed after them. Richard was beaming with both excitement and smug superiority. It was a look Beth knew well. Riggs, on the other hand, was holding a hand to his chest and looking like he had had the life scared out of him. 

"Mrs. Norris was on the prowl," he told Vivian bitterly, as she relinquished her position behind the Ledger. "Mrs. Norris means Filch. Filch means Peeves. Peeves means the Bloody Baron -- I thought we'd have to hide in every classroom from here to the common room." 

Richard was ignoring him. "Welcome to the Vase Room," he cheered, striding to the front. "This is Evan Wilkes and Herne Rudisille. And this," he went on, gesturing around, "is the Society for Slytherin Advancement." 

He went on to describe the goals and methods of the club, but Beth couldn't make out what he was saying because at the moment, Melissa was hissing angrily in her ear. 

"Both of them boys -- do you believe it? That makes eleven of us, and only three girls! Isn't that ridiculous? It ought to be five/six at least!" 

"Why are you suddenly on about this?" Beth whispered back. "You never cared before." 

"Well -- just realized --" Melissa blustered. 

The new members were now having their names inserted into the Ledger, the massive record of the club's history. Just last year, Beth had used the Ledger to confirm that her brother Lycaeon, a former member, was now alive in Azkaban prison instead of dead as she had believed. It still felt strange to think of how long she had been unaware of the truth. She shook off the thought and instead watched the new members. 

Herne Rudisille, with curly brown hair, was fresh-faced and genuinely excited to be there. He had a solid kind of build that indicated he'd been raised on hard work and rugby. Evan Wilkes was quite a different story. Slim and dark, with slick black hair falling into shadowed eyes, he seemed to be making a distinct effort to stay aloof from the scene. In it but not of it, Beth thought. 

"Right." At the front of the room, Richard clapped his hands once for order. "On to the interesting stuff. Any old business?" 

"No, we wrapped it all up at the end of last year, and we just took care of the rest," said Vivian lazily. "Go on, Rich." 

"All right, new business then." 

Mervin spoke up. "Remember what Vivian said about the Triwizard Tournament last year, how it's going to be reinstated?" he said smugly. "It's set for the '94-'95 school year. They're inviting Durmstrang and Beauxbaton, and they're going to have it right here." 

"How did you find that out?" Beth laughed, nudging him in the arm. 

"Heard it from my Great-Uncle Mundungus. He gets in trouble with the Ministry a lot, but he pays attention when he's brought in. Got raided this summer by the Muggle Artifacts people. He was spitting mad." 

"Triwizard Tournament ..." Richard mused. "That'll be my seventh year, me and everybody younger has a chance at it. You'd all better study hard, because we're _all_ entering the contest." 

"Speaking of contests," said Bruce, with a glance at Uther, "the Quidditch team is smashing. We'll win the cup again for sure." 

"Good, because we _need_ those points to win back the House Cup," Richard said fervently. "We would have had it last year if it wasn't for those Gryffindor firsties. They wouldn't even be alive if it wasn't for us," he added, looking at Herne and Evan. "We got to Dumbledore in London in time to send him back to Hogwarts to save their lives. We got a trophy --" he gestured to a silver cup on a shelf "-- but no house points. Not this year, chaps. We're getting that Cup back if it kills us." 

"Or if it kills Potter," said Uther innocently. 

"We can only hope," said Bruce. 

Richard frowned at them. "Remember what Dumbledore said last year. The Dark Lord's still out there in some form, and now he's got a double grudge against Potter. We may be called on to help protect him." 

"Sure, I'll protect him," Uther said. "But if I see him getting close to a Golden Snitch -- bam!" He smacked his palm with his fist. 

Snorting, Richard went on with the meeting. "Anything else?" There was silence. "Seeing none, the first meeting of the year is now adjourned. See you all next Thursday." 

"We'll be here," said Vivian with a smile. 

"Thursdays," sighed Melissa. "I'd forgotten. Wasn't it nice over the summer, being able to get to bed on Thursday nights at a normal time?" 

"I like this better," said Beth, and she meant it. 


	5. In Which Nothing Happens

[_Author's Note_] So I'm reading over the reviews, loving every one of you, when I realize that you're only commenting on some eight thousand words worth of intro and that there hasn't actually been any plot yet. Thankfully, it starts now. Things start to happen in this chapter, despite the title, and continue through chapter twenty-seven. Thanks for sticking with me. It's not my fault nobody opened the Chamber of Secrets until late October. Confidential to Kame: I think Richard's hot too. :-) 

**Chapter Five: In Which Nothing Important Happens**

The first week of school was hectic. It was difficult to get used to waking up early enough to get a shower, or to share a room with two other girls. To make up for it, that Saturday Beth slept in until she couldn't live with the guilt, then sat by the fire and read a paperback novel for a bit. The novel was about a boy who, on his eleventh birthday, discovered that he had been born with incredible magical powers. He was the youngest of his kind, and special because he was the Seeker. It was called The Dark is Rising by Susan Cooper, and it was an enthralling read. After a while she wandered down to the Great Hall for a late breakfast. 

Melissa was there already, having a conversation with Pansy Parkinson. Richard would be proud that she was getting on her assignment already, Beth thought. She sat down beside them. 

"Where's Bruce?" 

Melissa narrowed her eyes. "Out with the old boy's club, where else? Can't expect to see him on Saturdays until Quidditch season is over." 

"Draco's simply thrilled that he was chosen to be Seeker," Pansy said, leaning over to them. She had a small, puggish face that made her look mean. "You should just hear him going on. 'I'm going to smash Potter, I can't wait to go up against Potter.' It's really quite cute." 

"Think he has a chance against Potter?" asked Beth. "I mean, he's not bad." 

"Absolutely," said Pansy snobbily. "I've seen them both fly, and Potter's fast, but he hasn't got Draco's grace -- _or_ experience." She leaned in closer. "It _does_ make a difference, doesn't it -- being pure blood, and raised like one of us, or growing up like a simple Muggle." 

Raised like a simple Muggle? The blood rushed to Beth's head as she thought of her father, who'd always done the best he could even if he wasn't a wizard. An angry retort sprung to her lips, but she bit it back. It wouldn't do her any good to tell about her own parentage, if this was the kind of attitude she faced. 

Melissa had caught the murderous look in Beth's eye and hastily redirected the conversation. "It's worked for Draco, he's quite the flying ace," she said. "I watched the trials, and he's up with the best of them. Aggressive, too." 

Pansy giggled. "Like in the trials, when he kicked that other boy who was getting too close to the Snitch. He says he only wishes he'd get a chance to do the same to Potter." 

Further conversation was disrupted by the entrance of Marcus Flint and the rest of the Quidditch team, leaning on each other's shoulders and laughing their heads off. They mobbed the empty seats at the end of the table at sat there wiping away tears of mirth on the green silk napkins. 

Draco sauntered up to Pansy, who started batting her eyes at him so hard that Beth thought her eyelids were going to fly off. "You should've been there, Pansy," he drawled, standing there with a big smirk on his face. "Funniest thing you ever saw." 

"What happened?" asked Pansy. 

Draco stood back a bit. He was obviously gearing up for one of his famous impromptu performances. "We went onto the field -- the Gryffindors were already swooping around on those antique brooms of theirs -- so who comes to stop us but Oliver Wood." People were starting to gather around him. He put on a whiny, befuddled voice. "'_We booked the field! We booked it!_'" There was general laughter. "So Marcus goes up to him --" He put on the deep, aggressive voice of Marcus Flint -- "and says, 'We've got special permission to train our new Seeker.' Potter sees it's me, almost pees his pants he's so surprised, his little friends come scampering onto the field. The mudblood's like, '_At least Harry didn't buy his way onto the team!_' --" Now it was the high-pitched, know-it-all voice of Granger -- "And Weasley blubbers, '_You'll pay for that, Malfoy!_' and actually tries to hex me -- only his wand blows backwards and the next thing you know, Weasley's sitting on the ground burping up slugs!" 

The Slytherins howled with laughter. Beth had to bury her head in her arms at the thought of big, glistening slugs gushing from the mouth of a surprised-looking Weasley. 

"S-slugs," stammered Melissa, holding her sides. "That's -- beautiful --" 

"Priceless," Bruce agreed, patting her on the back. "Even better, you should've seen the look on their faces when we all pulled out our new brooms! I thought Wood was going to have a seizure!" 

"Wait a minute," said Melissa, "new brooms?" 

A look of near ecstasy washed over Bruce's face. "You're never going to believe this, but Draco's father was so happy he made the team, that he sent over broomsticks for the whole team -- Nimbus Two Thousand _and One!_" 

"All of you?" gasped Melissa. 

"Every one," said Bruce. 

"What about your Comet?" said Beth. "It just got overhauled last Christmas." 

Bruce grinned. "I'll keep it, sure. The Nimbus brooms aren't ours, really, they're team property. We'll be flying those babies for years. Can't take them home over the summer, though." 

Melissa crossed her arms stubbornly, and Beth guessed what was going to come out of her mouth just before it actually did. "Better keep them locked up, Bruce, that way no girls will be able to ruin them." 

The grin faded from Bruce's face. "Hey now," he frowned, "why're you going on about this all? I told you any girl who makes the team can use 'em -- there just aren't any girls that ever do. We're not out to -- to keep all the girls out, or something." 

"I doubt that," said Melissa scathingly. And that was all they got out of her until the subject was safely changed. 

***

Apart from Melissa's bizarre new preoccupation with suffrage, the school year startled to settle out the way it had in past years. Bruce spent a lot of time with the Quidditch team and started carrying around a Quaffle to "get more comfortable with it". Melissa spent a lot of time with her boyfriend Galen Melhorn, who was a sixth-year Gryffindor. Beth spent a lot of time with her Alchemy book. She didn't want to think that she was over her head by taking the class, but it was sapping a lot of her energy -- and time. 

"How long did you get your essay?" Melissa whispered in Transfiguration, as Professor McGonagall came around collecting their homework. 

"Fourteen inches," Beth replied miserably. She'd waited until the last minute to put it together, and barely scraped past the minimum of one foot. On top of it, she'd had to stay up late to do it and was grumpy. 

Melissa pursed her lips. "You're going to really be in trouble if you keep this up," she observed primly, and Beth suddenly felt like twisting Melissa's nose off. "It's like this in all your classes. Why don't you get a tutor, if Alchemy's such a problem?" 

"I don't need a tutor," Beth snapped. "I need more hours in the day." 

Professor McGonagall had begun to lecture, so Beth dipped a quill in her inkwell and started copying notes. The lecture went rather fast today; soon, her scroll was thick with notes. There wasn't even time to doodle along the margins. She was writing so fast, in fact, that her right hand started to cramp up. Her middle finger especially was starting to really hurt, almost like it was being gripped in a vise, or a tightening clamp -- 

Beth stopped writing and looked down at her hand. Her middle finger was being clamped -- the ring from the S.S.A was gradually contracting. It also seemed to be getting colder; Beth realized it suddenly, and a chill went up and down her arm. It's going to cut off my finger, she thought irrationally, and tugged at the tightening metal circle until it squeezed past her knuckle and clattered to the desk, where it immediately vanished. Beth was alarmed until she remembered that the rings could only be seen by someone who was wearing them. She clutched the ring in one hand so that she wouldn't lose it, but the cold still bit into her palm. 

She looked around. Mervin was scratching at his hand, Bruce seemed to be chewing on his knuckle. Melissa had her hands crossed one on top of the other, and she looked scared. 

"Well, Miss Parson?" 

Beth looked up -- she had entirely forgotten about class. "I'm sorry, what was the question?" 

McGonagall fixed her with that special glare that only the Slytherins ever got to see. "I said, What are the four basic degrees of transfiguration, in terms of time?" 

"Momentary, temporary, prolonged, and permanent," Beth recited, only half paying attention. She had her eyes on Melissa. Gradually, the frightened look went out of Melissa's face, and her hands relaxed. Beth realized that the ring in her hand was starting to warm up again. She cast a glance at Bruce -- he looked relieved but puzzled. Mervin looked just plain confused. 

Warily, she put the ring back on, ready to wrench it off again, if it began to tighten, but it acted like a perfectly normal piece of jewelry for the rest of the day. By the end of class, McGonagall had assigned another essay, this one with a sixteen-inch minimum, and all thoughts of the ring were washed from Beth's mind by a wave of pure despair. 

***

Beth and Melissa crept down the hall together at eleven-thirty at night. They had made it a habit of sneaking to the S.S.A. as a pair; it was hard to be quiet with more than two people, but it was terribly lonely to go alone. They didn't speak until they were safely inside the Vase Room. Although neither of them had ever been caught sneaking down the hall to the meeting place, it was still a risk; Argus Filch, the caretaker, and his gray cat Mrs. Norris patrolled the hallways endlessly in search of students to punish. 

Richard and most of the S.S.A was already assembled. Riggs, who as prefect should have been back in the dormitories, had obviously shirked his duties to be here. He perched in his old seat behind the enormous Ledger, and was peering through his spectacles at one vast page. Vivian stretched catlike along a low couch, with Daedalus cross-legged on the floor in front of her. Uther had commandeered the one and only armchair and slouched in it now, a look of perfect contentment on his ruddy face. Herne sat on the floor near Uther. He still didn't seem totally used to being in the company of so many older students, and beside the sixth-year Chaser, his youth was especially accented. 

Mervin and Bruce filtered in, looking guilty. Evan followed a few minutes afterward. He showed no expression on his dark face, and made no move to apologize for being late. When they had all assembled, Richard cleared his throat importantly and bestowed upon them all a meaningful look. 

"Did you all feel it? Wednesday afternoon?" 

A pause. With a start, Beth remembered how her ring had acted strangely, growing cold and colder, tight and tighter. A ripple of recognition was spreading through the rest of the S.S.A as well. "Yes! Who was it, Rich?" Vivian asked, propping herself up on one elbow and regarding him with keen interest. 

"What do you mean, who?" asked Herne curiously. 

"When the rings grow cold," Richard said, "it means that a member of the S.S.A has died." 

Uther sat up in surprise. "Hang on, chap, we're all here, right?" 

"Of course," Riggs said impatiently, pushing up his spectacles with one slender finger. "We're not the only members." 

At the front of the room, Richard was nodding. "It was an alumnus. We're members for life, you know." Something about the way he said it struck Beth as ominous. "Baltus Gatherum, class of 1948. He was actually in the student chapter at the same time as Tom Riddle, there aren't many of those left." 

"How do you know?" demanded Mervin, as if it were suspicious that Richard had that kind of information. 

Richard held up a cream-colored paper. "I got an owl from the President. We're all going to the funeral." 

"Don't be ridiculous, Rich," Vivian laughed, before anyone else could comment. "They'll never be able to get us all out and back without tipping someone off." 

"They can and they will," Richard said staunchly. "Plans are already in the works. Jules Rothbard -- he's the president of the whole thing -- will be contacting us again by this Saturday. The funeral's Sunday night. _Our_ version, anyway," he added, with a glint in his eye. 

"What do we have to do for it?" Riggs worried. 

"Just show up," Richard reassured him. "Chat with the alumni for a while. They'll be interested to hear what we've been up to, and they can tell us all kinds of things about what's happened in the past at Hogwarts. It'll be fascinating." He paused. "Jerome Marx is bound to show up too." 

"That's right!" said Vivian delightedly. "And the Arendts. Dell, we'll get to see Stewart again!" she exclaimed, nudging Daedalus on the shoulder. "He was president our first year," she explained. "He's great." 

"May you all remember me thus," Richard said solemnly. 

"Remember who?" teased Melissa, and with that the meeting was adjourned. 

***

Friday went quickly, to Beth's great relief, and she and Melissa celebrated the weekend by sleeping in extremely late and coming to breakfast wearing their slippers under their robes. Bruce and the rest of the Quidditch team had been up for hours, and were just enjoying breakfast after what appeared to have been a muddy practice. 

"It was going to be just going over formations," Bruce explained, holding ice to a bruised cheek, "but Marcus was late so the Chasers challenged the rest of us to shuntbumps. So we just spent an hour trying to knock each other off our broomsticks." 

Melissa looked horrified. "On those expensive brooms?" 

"Nah, we used the school ones. They're pretty groady already." 

Uther joined in with a grin. "Yeah, they whack better too." He had a split lip. 

"Who won?" asked Beth. 

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Warrington, who else? He's a beast." 

"A bloody mountain," agreed Uther. 

Delivery owls filled the Great Hall with hooting and feathers; a big cardboard box landed on Richard's lap while he was halfway through a bowl of shredded wheat. The cereal went flying; the box toppled to the ground. Ignoring his spilled food, Richard bent down excitedly and retrieved it. 

"It's from _Rothbard!_" he exclaimed, enthusiastically tearing into the package. He pulled out an enormous carved beer stein. Its ivory sides were browned and engraved with pictures of strange deer and thick forests. 

"_Smashing!_" cried Uther, reaching out to take a closer look. Richard narrowed his eyes and withheld the beer stein. 

"Don't touch it," he hissed. 

Uther drew back and held up his hands, giving Richard an odd look. "Whatever you say, Rich. Cripes." 

Rich carefully laid the stein back in the cardboard box. "Got to get this away," he said, half muttering, and he bolted away, leaving his shredded wheat in a big puddle on the table. 

"Random," whistled Uther, watching him go. 

"Do you expect any less?" said Beth, with a grin. 


	6. The Gathering of the Alumni

**Chapter Six: The Gathering of the Alumni**

They gathered in the Vase Room on the evening of September twenty-seventh, having skipped dinner on Richard's recommendation. Beth had put on her favorite outfit under her cloak for the occasion, mostly to make herself less nervous. She wasn't sure that she wanted to sneak off of the school grounds to go hobnob with dozens of adults she didn't know. In fact, it was her idea of a tedious, nerve-wracking evening, and on top of it she was getting hungry. On the other hand, Melissa was positively delighted. 

"Can you imagine!" she simpered, as they stood around in the Vase Room awaiting Richard's arrival. "Meeting all those alumni? Some of them are probably very successful -- maybe even famous!" 

"Maybe," said Beth halfheartedly. 

Richard came in. He was carrying the carved beer stein. Elbowing his way to the middle of the room, he bent down and put it in the middle of the floor and looked up at them with a big grin. 

"Here it is," he announced. "The chariot has arrived." 

This was met with general confusion. 

"What do you mean, we're traveling by mug?" demanded Mervin. 

Richard's grin widened. "It's a portkey. At a given time, it'll instantly transport us all to the funeral. All we have to do is make sure we have our fingers inside it, so it has something to grab onto." 

"Is it safe?" asked Melissa. 

"Perfectly." Richard checked his watch. "One minute to go. All right, everyone, gather around and grab the rim. Make room for everybody now." 

They crouched on the floor in a very cluttered circle. "Whose elbow was that?" someone snarled. 

"Uh -- mine, sorry," came Herne's voice. 

"Twenty seconds," said Richard. "Make sure you've got a finger in." 

As confident as Richard was, Beth didn't like the idea of entrusting their travel to a carved beer stein. How did they know where it was going to end up? Would she have to look for an exit, like in the Floo network? That was another thing -- Beth was notorious for getting sick whenever she traveled by Floo. Was this going to be just as bad? 

Well, there was nothing to do but try. She closed her eyes tightly. 

"Three ... two ... one ..." 

It felt as if someone very strong had grabbed her arm and was yanking her into the air. Wind whistled through her hair and she felt her stomach drop as she was hoisted off her feet and jerked through space. She could feel the other members jostling along around her. Then the force pulling her let go, and she was just falling, spiraling through nowhere, with no idea where the ground lay ... 

She landed with an enormous thud. There was an injured squall. Her eyes flew open and she looked around. Melissa sprawled under her, gasping, "Get off of me, for crying out loud, Beth!" 

All eleven of them were heaped in a big pile. There was a strange sound as the mug rolled off of them and thudded onto the damp ground. Groaning, they disentangled themselves. Beth struggled to her feet and helped pull Melissa's legs out from under Bruce. 

Vivian's voice came thinly. "Rich? ... Where are we?" 

For the first time, Beth looked around. Her stomach turned. They had landed in an ancient, empty graveyard, with leaning stones and weedy graves ... and they were standing right on top of one. She quickly jumped to one side, thoroughly creeped out. 

"They'll be along in a moment," Rich said, with less than his usual bravura. 

Silence fell on the group. The graveyard was unnaturally quiet. There ought to be crickets, Beth thought. But there weren't any insects -- no birds -- no rustlings -- only the faint howl of the wind, and the quivering of dead leaves in its wake ... 

Vivian let out a little shriek. A robed figure had just stepped out from behind one of the high marble markers and was starting towards them. Beside him, another appeared, cloaked and hooded like his counterpart. Beth whirled around. Hooded figures were starting to appear all over the boneyard, forming from thin air, coming out from behind trees, advancing on the S.S.A. relentlessly. 

The eleven of them drew closer together. Then a voice rang out through the darkness. 

"Shaw, old boy, where are you in that pack of students?" 

A look of relief swept over Richard's face. He strode toward the first, closest figure with his arm extended. The hooded creature took his hand and shook it warmly, pulling back the hood of his cloak as he did. 

The man beneath the hood was round-faced and bald. He had a big white walrus moustache and a fat sort of chin. Beth thought he looked very grandfatherly. Letting go of Richard, he waved genially at the group, and came forward to meet them. 

"Welcome! Welcome! I hope your trip went well. Enchanted that Portkey myself, to make sure. You're all well, I hope?" Reaching the group, he took Vivian's hand and bent to kiss it. She was thoroughly charmed. 

He turned back to Richard, who tagged along at his side. "Haven't introduced me yet, have you? Rothbard, Jules Rothbard. I'm the President of the Society, and as such, your honored host for the evening. Come," he said, eyes crinkling merrily, as he turned and started to walk towards the other hooded figures, calling greetings all along the way. 

"Well -- come on!" said Richard. 

More and more figures were Apparating to the graveyard. Beth looked up in time to see three broomsticks soar over the graveyard fence. There must have been fifty people now, swarming around the tombstones, forming little groups. 

"There are dozens of them!" Bruce whispered, but Evan hissed back: 

"There are a hundred and twenty-four of us! This can't be all!" 

They followed Jules Rothbard up a hill and over its grave-studded crest. The others were starting to follow him as well -- it was like an exodus of black capes and cloaks. 

Melissa tugged on Beth's arm suddenly. "Look at that -- it's really him! That's the founder's grave!" 

An enormous tombstone loomed near them, dwarfing all the others around it. The words "TOM RIDDLE" were engraved deep into the marble. 

Rothbard turned back to them. "No, I'm afraid that's not him," he called to Melissa. "That is the grave of his father. Our founder was ... never properly interred." 

Melissa raised her eyebrows at that, but said nothing. The graveyard was eerie enough to limit conversation. You'd have to be crazy to shout in this atmosphere, Beth thought, with the mist laying low and the gravestones casting shadows on the slow-moving, cloaked figures -- 

"Well, Viv, I see you've brought along the newbies!" 

Vivian let out a delighted shriek and leapt into the arms of the man who had spoken. As she crushed him with a hug, his hood flapped back to reveal the handsome, smiling face of Jerome Marx. He came forward and shook hands with Daedalus, who exclaimed, "Jerry, it's good to see you! What have you been up to this summer?" 

Jerome joined them as they went along, throwing an arm around Vivian's shoulders and ruffling Riggs' hair. Riggs looked disgusted. 

"Spent the summer counseling brats at Camp Galileo," he announced heartily. "Ah, they're crazy at that age -- too young to own a wand, but get them mad and tadpoles start to explode -- one of the best things I ever did. I'm studying to be a teacher. Catch 'em and corrupt 'em young." 

"Oh come off it," Vivian laughed, "really? You didn't follow the rules even when you were a prefect!" 

"Really," Jerome swore. "We need good teachers. Some pureblood families are even starting to send their kids off to Muggle public schools." 

"I went to public school!" exclaimed Beth, cheerfully offended. 

"And see what it gets you?" Jerome went on, without missing a beat. "Turns you into some kind of Potions genius. Who wants that for their kid? Come on, Stewarts's over there by the big marble angel. He wants to see you and Dell." The three of them went off together. 

A tall, hawkish figure strode up to the group, hood raised. "Mr. Shaw," a severe female voice said, "did it occur to you that I might also be convenienced to use the Portkey?" 

Richard ducked his head. "Sorry, Madame Pince," he said, a little sheepishly. "There were eleven of us already. And you don't know the password to the Vase Room." 

"Mr. Shaw, I have been privileged to know the password to the Vase Room for at least thirty years," said the figure. She pushed back her cloak to reveal the thin, vulturelike librarian. "You ought to know that we can't Apparate from the Hogwarts grounds. I had to ride out to Hogsmeade and Apparate from there. It was terribly inconvenient." 

"Irma!" Rothbard bustled over, beaming, and kissed Madame Pince on both cheeks. "It's good to see you -- still protecting the books?" 

Beth had never seen the librarian smile at anything, but she did so now. It completely transformed her usually drawn and skeptical face. "Passionately, Jules. It's a horror what the students put them through. Scratches, slobbering, inkspots -- our library ought to be reduced to heaps of scrap paper by now." 

Rothbard took her around the shoulders and led her away. Beth could barely hear him saying, "All the old crowd -- the ones that are still around, mind -- Frank is dying to see you." 

Bruce was starting to look alarmed at the chattering people all around them. There was a positively claustrophobic look in Evan's dark, serious eyes. Melissa, on the other hand, was practically jumping up and down with excitement. 

They followed Rothbard further through the graveyard. Up ahead, a square building loomed in the darkness. It was small and completely without decoration. As they got closer, Beth could make out a pair of carved doors and the word "SMITHERS" engraved in big letters above them. 

"Sepulcher," muttered Riggs. 

"That's a tomb?" Herne gasped, eyes wide. 

Riggs nodded curtly. "More of a crypt really. Keeps out grave robbers. For us, of course, it's got a different use." 

"What?" asked Beth, but Riggs had peeled off from the group and approached a figures in thickly furred robes. It carried a beer stein similar to the one Riggs held. Richard saw them and ran over, motioning for the others to join him. He held out his hands. 

"Gypsy Arendt," he said fondly, and as the figure came into the light it became a smiling, dark-eyed girl of Richard's age. Gypsy pecked him on the cheek and took Riggs' arm, who looked gratified. "How is Durmstrang?" 

"Cold and damp," she said softly, letting her eyes roam about the rest of the S.S.A., "but fascinating. Headmaster Karkaroff is an incredible wizard. The faculty is excellent. Professor Viridian -- he teaches Curses and Countercurses -- has written a number of books. And the Quidditch program is outstanding. My brother Ace was quite beside himself. He should be here shortly as well. I see you've added some members?" 

"We had to make up for you and your brother with the fourth-years," Richard explained hastily. "Beth, Melissa, Bruce, and Mervin. They're a clever bunch." Gypsy curtsied a little, smiling. "And our third-years are Evan and Herne." 

"Of course, they were first-years when we joined," said Gypsy. "I remember their Sorting. That one -- he's Herne, is he? -- got lost on the way to the common room, and the prefect had to go looking for him. And at the feast, remember how Stewart kept pushing that broccoli on us? I do hope that's a tradition you've dropped." 

Richard ducked his head. "We've changed it to potatoes actually." 

A crowd was starting to gather around the sepulcher as different clusters of people all moved together. Riggs nodded his head towards them, and they joined the group. The sepulcher rose high above the crowd of cloaks and hoods. 

Jules Rothbard climbed up the few steps of the tomb and stood there with his hands raised, fat and jolly. "Welcome, all," he called over the clamor, and eventually the chattering stopped. "We are here not to mourn, but to honor the passing of friend and colleague Baltus Gatherum. Here's the plan for tonight. We have a short ceremony -- then a little more time to mix -- finally a feast to celebrate and remember his life with us. Please follow me!" 

Then Rothbard turned and disappeared through the solid crypt doors. 

One by one the members went up to the doors of the crypt, paused for a moment, and sank through as if the walls were only mist. 

"What are they doing?" whispered Herne, looking up at Uther questioningly. 

Uther shrugged. "Watch and learn." 

As the crowd pressed in, they could see better what was going on. The members would put their hand to the door, as if punching it, and then fade through. Richard got there first. After a little hesitation, he put out his hand and stepped through the doors. 

"What did he do?" asked Herne again, now looking almost frightened. Beth knew what he was thinking. What if there was something unsafe behind the stone walls? They'd never know it -- no one would come back to tell the tale. Or, almost as bad, what if she alone was rejected for entry? Rothbard would probably revoke her membership. She had a bad vision of standing alone in the graveyard while her friends filed into the crypt. 

"Beth, go on." 

It was somehow her turn. She looked at the door, barely daring to try. There was a round indentation where a door handle would have been. The pattern was familiar: a pair of snakes twining around a lighted wand. The crest, she thought dimly, like on the rings. 

The rings. Of course! She reached forward and nestled the top of her ring into the hole. She felt something give, and she stumbled forward. It was like going through the barrier at King's Cross Station; a little disorienting, but not uncomfortable. 

The others followed quickly behind her. She heard Melissa draw in a breath. 

"Incredible," whistled Uther. 


	7. The Memorial Crypt

**Chapter Seven: The Memorial Crypt**

The crypt was easily ten times as large inside as it looked from the outside. A passage on one side indicated that there was even more. Bright chandeliers hung from an impossibly high ceiling. The walls were intricately carved. On closer inspection, it turned out to be lists and lists of names -- Beth thought of the Vietnam war memorial back in Washington D.C., although these walls were beige instead of black. Each set of names was preceded by a date; the year of induction, Beth guessed, since they mostly came in pairs. There was a slot by each name; in some of them, rings rested. 

Jules Rothbard stood at the front of the room, his merry face now grave. When everyone was inside and quiet, he began to speak. 

"Baltus Gatherum was a friend, classmate and colleague. Some of us remember him back in his first days at Hogwarts -- he was a brilliant chess-player and no good at all on a broomstick. As he aged he rose to the top of the class; graduated, to the great relief of the gamekeeper Ogg, with an emphasis in Magical Creatures; and went on to work with the Ministry of Magic. He spent time in law enforcement, hunting down poachers ... served as a consultant on several books, which are still widely used ... became a devoted husband and father of seven. He has lived in America, Italy and Morocco, in addition to this his home country. 

"As a member, he did his duty. His achievements reflected glory on the Slytherin house throughout his life. He resisted the Dark Lord many years ago, though he lost three children in those times. While at Hogwarts he left behind detailed descriptions of some of the many secret passageways in the castle, which are still used by the student chapter. 

"Baltus was a success, and we are here to honor his memory." Rothbard felt around in his pocket and pulled out a ring. "He wore this ring well. Now we commit it to history." 

He reached over and slid the ring into the slot beside Gatherum's name. Beth realized that some of the older members were crying. So that was what the rings in the slots meant -- the owners were no longer alive to wear them. 

Several minutes of silence passed before Rothbard spoke up again. "We will be gathering in the anteroom in fifteen minutes. Until then, please stay here." He left via the passage at the right. 

There was nothing to do but look around at the walls. Some of the older members stood in huddles, presumably reminiscing about the deceased, but the younger set spread out along the walls to read the long lines of names. Riggs and Richard went straight to the name of Tom Riddle, under the heading "1940", and stood together gazing up almost in reverence. 

Evan stood alone, looking impassively at the wall, hands behind his back. Beth came up beside him curiously. 

He acknowledged her with a brief flick of his head. "I was named after my father's best friend," he said, almost lazily, and gestured to a place on the wall. It read: 

**1969**   
Evan Rosier   
Benjamin Wilkes

Both names had rings in the slots beside them. "Oh," Beth said, growing red, "I didn't realize, I'm sorry --" 

"It's all right," said Evan brusquely, and his face closed off. 

Not knowing what else to say, Beth backed away. Melissa was nearby, so she joined her hastily. By the irritated look on her face, she should have known better. 

"Look at how many of these names are men!" Melissa fumed, staring up at one long lists of engravings. "There was only one woman in the original group. Then one after her ... and _three years_ until the next! It's outrageous!" 

"Jolly right," a resolute woman beside her spoke up stoutly. "The Society owes so much to women, but there have been so few of us. Only thrice has a woman served as president in the student chapter, and it was twenty years before even that." 

"Who was that?" asked Melissa, eyes shining. 

The woman straightened further. "That was I. Dorothea Fox." 

Sensing that Melissa had just met her new idol, Beth moved away to let them talk. She wandered along the walls, gazing at the names. Some of them were familiar, some outlandish ... and every one held secrets and stories, she realized. Daedalus would have his name carved here, but no one would know that he was an Animagus. How many others were Animagi as well? How many were past presidents? How many, like her, were part Muggle? 

At least one. 

Beth went farther down the wall, calculating in her head. She'd joined the organization in 1991 -- subtract twelve from that -- and it made -- 

1978. 

The numbers stood out boldly in the wall. There were two names underneath it; neither name had a ring resting beside it. The first, Jefferson Raffia, was wholly unfamiliar. But the second ... 

Her hand shaking, she reached out and laid a finger over the name of Lycaeon Parson. 

It felt like an explosion had gone off in her head. She was speeding through space, her mind was reeling, spinning, searching -- 

Suddenly all was still. 

Like a vision, Beth saw a stone wall with bars over a tiny window. It was nighttime outside. Inside -- it was a depraved stone square, with little more than a thin cot and a cold, bare floor. 

Something on the cot stirred, and Beth realized that someone lay there. It rolled over. It was a man, long and lanky, with bushy blonde hair past the shoulder and a large hawk nose protruding from a gaunt, battered face. His eyes were half-lidded, and he was muttering to himself. The prominent chin, the dark eyebrows, were so familiar -- 

It was her brother. 

Beth jerked with a start. The image vanished from her mind and she was left staring at the wall of names. Her hand had fallen away from the inscription. Anxiously, she thrust her hand back out and planted a finger over the name. 

Again she soared through consciousness. She was again in the cell, watching the scene as if it were a movie. Lycaeon huddled on his cot, still muttering under his breath. She could see his lips move, but there was no sound -- not the crashing of waves, not the cry of sea birds, not even his ragged breathing. She stared, transfixed, at the figure of her brother. This was what he had become ... twelve years in Azkaban had hollowed him out, run him dry. His fevered eyes looked like they had never seen a happy day. His cheeks were thin, thinner than they were in the old photographs. By the moonlight she could see that his blonde hair was streaked with gray, and stubble rose along his jutting chin. The Parson profile, she thought absurdly. 

Suddenly Lycaeon lurched to his feet. He stumbled to the window, almost as stiff as their aged father, and gazed out from between the bars. Beth held her breath. Then he turned away and, astoundingly, bent down to the floor and began clawing away where it met with one wall. 

Painstakingly, he pried out a single brick and reached into the gap that it left. He pulled out a handful of thin slips of paper, chose one randomly, and thrust the others back before shoving the brick into place. Then he sat on his cot, bending close to the paper, to read it in the moonlight. 

Beth willed the vision to focus in on the little slip of paper. She couldn't make out the words; but she knew the script well enough. It was signed, "Dad". 

"Beth?" 

The sound of a voice broke up the vision in her head. She was in the vault again. She ran her hands over her face. Bruce was beside her, looking worried. 

"Are you all right? You were pretty spaced out." 

"I'm fine," she said, too hastily. 

Bruce followed her gaze to the name on the wall. "Is that your brother?" 

Dry-mouthed, Beth nodded. 

He gave her a skeptical look, but Bruce was nothing if not discreet. "Come on, it's time to eat." 

"Eat?" 

"They're having a feast. Honor the dead. You must have been _really_ spaced out." He looked concerned again. Beth gave a shaky laugh. 

"Yeah, guess so." 

She followed him into the crowd and through the passage. After a few feet, they came out into another room, just as large as the first. 

The room to the right of the crypt was stone, and brightly lit with sconces on the walls and a pair of gorgeous chandeliers. A long table was set for dozens of people; it would obviously accommodate all of the members, students and alumni. "All this is inside that squidgy building," Bruce wondered, gazing around at the marble columns. 

"Like it?" asked a ruddy, thickset man beside them. "I worked on it. Took the five of us a whole year." 

"It must have been a beast to hide," Beth said politely. "When you were building it, I mean." 

The ruddy man laughed heartily. "Not at all," he chortled. "We built it the Muggle way -- paid for the plot fair and legal. Masonry's an old and noble trade. It's enchanting the whole thing that took so much time." 

"Attention please!" It was Rothbard, calling from the front of the room. "You'll find your names by your seats. Not too much ruckus now!" Of course, ruckus was exactly what ensued as the whole membership tried to seek out their assigned places. Several of the older members used basic locating spells; at least two of them placed their wands in their open palms and let them spin around until they pointed at the right spots. They hadn't done anything like that in Charms yet, so Beth had to walk up and down the room until she found her place: sandwiched between "David Gudgeon" and "Artaxerxes Manning". 

She sat down and waited for everyone else to filter in. None of the student members was less than five seats away; she'd be on her own, surrounded by adults. Beth shuddered. 

"Hi, I guess we're dinner partners." 

She looked up. A handsome, clean-shaven man in his early forties was smiling down at her. His face was tanned, his hair brown and closely cropped. There was a long, very noticeable scar crossing his left eye. He dropped into the seat beside her and looked over at her name tag. 

"Hmm, Elizabeth, is it? I'm Dave -- Davey, if Rothbard has his way, but Dave's fine with me." 

"I'm Beth," she said, shaking his hand. 

"It's a pleasure," he replied, eyes twinkling. He looked up. "And what do you know! It's old Artie." 

A thin man with a scraggly rat's moustache sat on Beth's other side. "Artie, indeed," he said, in a narrow sort of voice. "You've never called me my proper name, you know, David." 

David Gudgeon shrugged. "You look like an Artie to me." 

"And you," said the scrawny man, his moustache twitching, "look like as much as a rogue as ever." 

"Oh no," avowed Dave. "I'm worse." 

There was a clinking sound from the front of the room. Jules Rothbard stood there, tapping his spoon on his glass for attention. Richard was seated next to him, looking downright thrilled to be there. Once the room was silent, Rothbard gave his wand a few quick flicks. 

"_Omniphera paribus; conjorus vino!_" 

"I thought it was ceteris paribus," Beth whispered, half to herself. 

"That's one version," Dave whispered back. "This one covers everyone within sight. Handy for gatherings and such." 

Rothbard raised his goblet, and everyone else went along with his lead. Beth found that her glass had filled up by itself. He exclaimed: "A toast -- to Baltus Gatherum!" 

"Baltus Gatherum!" the throng repeated. Beth joined in with them, and took a sip. 

Rothbard sat back down, but Richard, perhaps carried away by the spirit of the moment, leapt to his feet. "To the glory of the snake," he cried, raising his glass, "and to the founder, Tom Riddle!" 

Beth had never seen a toast before that night, but surely this wasn't how it was supposed to go. Many of the younger members raised their glasses with Richard -- herself included -- but just as many others fell into a troubling silence and did not follow. A few of the oldest inclined their goblets only slightly. After several awkward seconds, Richard sat back down. 

Food magically appeared along the length of the table, just as the wine had before. Beth helped herself to several slices of succulent roast beef and a very fluffy dinner roll. No matter what else they did, apparently the S.S.A knew how to set out a good meal. 

"Well my heavens, you're the famous Parson girl, aren't you?" Dave laughed out loud suddenly, halfway through buttering his dinner roll. 

Beth gave him a dubious look. "Hardly famous." 

"Of course, how could I have missed it? Luke Parson -- Lycaeon -- he was inducted in my sixth year! He talked about you all the time, went on about his blonde baby sister." Beth blushed. "I was on the Quidditch team with him. Incredible Keeper." He frowned suddenly. "I couldn't believe when I heard he'd turned Death Eater." 

"Me neither," said Beth hollowly. 

"Of course," interrupted scrawny Artaxerxes, leaning over to them, "it's an all too familiar story. We lost many of our own to the Dark Lord's following, both as victim and as criminal. For instance, your little dark-haired friend -- the Wilkes boy -- his father was a Death Eater who chose to be killed rather than captured. Those years were perhaps the Society's darkest time." 

"So that's why there aren't a hundred and twenty-four of us here," Beth guessed. 

Dave nodded grimly. "Can't come if you're dead or in Azkaban." 

There was a pause as all three of them fell into silence. 

Beth took the chance to look up and down the table. Melissa was half a length away, sitting beside Dorothea Fox with a look of adoration on her face. Bruce was nestled between a fat, cheerful hausfrau and a man that looked to be on the losing side of seventy. Up at the front, Richard and Rothbard were chattering heartily; Riggs was nearby, deep in conversation with a grizzled, bespectacled man. 

"They've put the officers at the front, then?" Beth guessed, nudging Artaxerxes. 

The skinny man with the moustache looked up from his mashed potatoes. "Oh yes. Past student presidents at the fore. Jules Rothbard's the oldest of them -- that's how the association President gets the job, you know. Oldest of the student presidents. Your young friend up there is fifth or sixth in line." 

Beth grinned. "Don't tell him that. If Richard found out, he'd probably assassinate everyone before him." 

Artaxerxes snorted into his roast beef. "Wouldn't be the first." 

Beth's smile faded, and she felt a sudden chill. 

"Same with the secretaries," Dave added quickly, his mouth full of roast beef. "That kid on the right, looks like he's got a stick up his -- well, stiff-looking chap, he'd be yours, right?" 

"Uh-huh." Beth contained her laughter. "That's Riggs." 

"He's sitting beside Ebenezer Nott. That fellow's been secretary since back in the Riddle days. I've been to plenty of these funerals, and he always sits at the same place, right there at the corner, five down from Rothbard. Puts down rogue creatures for the Ministry. He's a bit of an odd duck, but he's brilliant. Handles a Killing Curse like it was a Cheering Charm." 

"You're one to speak of brilliance." Artaxerxes let out a high-pitched laugh that was so thin it made him sound nervous. "Though I think I'd give you more points for nerve than brains. David Gudgeon mapped out the Forbidden Forest in his five years in the student chapter," he told Beth, moustache twitching. "He almost got himself killed any number of times." 

Dave shrugged. "Someone had to do it. Plus, I got to carry away this cool scar." He tapped the gash over his left eye. "Kicked in the head by a centaur, fifth year. 'Course, I had to let out the story that I got it while playing chicken with the Whomping Willow. " He laughed. "Ended the game at Hogwarts forever, or so I'm told." 

"Nobody tries to get near the Weeping Willow now," Beth confirmed. "Although -- earlier this year Harry Potter and one of his friends drove a flying car into it. Smashed it clear to heaven." 

Dave Gudgeon was suitably impressed. 

The meal was good; so was the company. Dave and Artaxerxes had plenty of stories about their days at Hogwarts, and plenty of comments about the accuracy of each others' tales; for the most part, Beth was content to sit and listen to them chatter about days gone by. At one point they asked her which professors were still teaching at Hogwarts; when she mentioned Lockhart, Dave practically lit up. 

"Gilderoy Lockhart, of course! My mother's half in love with him -- has all his books. She must write him twice a month. I'd better not tell her he's there, she'd try to re-enroll herself." 

Beth was enjoying herself so much that she was surprised when Richard came over and nudged her shoulder. 

"It's a quarter to one," he said. "We're leaving in a few minutes. Gather round the Portkey in the other room by then." 

Beth bid a disappointed farewell to her two dinner companions. 

"Keep in touch," Dave Gudgeon urged her. "Send an owl any time." 

"Likewise," said Artxerxes thinly. 

Reluctantly, Beth left them and joined her classmates in the other room. They gathered gradually; Riggs came in last, while Evan Wilkes appeared to have been there for hours, looking up at the name of his father. 

Madame Pince was not with them. "The way she carried on, you'd think she'd at least come back with us," Bruce said. 

"She's visiting," said Richard. "She won't be home for a few hours. All right, one minute, gather round and make sure you've got a grip on the mug!" 

As before, they circled around the beer stein on the ground and waited. The familiar jerking force came, pulling Beth and the rest of them off their feet and whirling them through undefined space until they landed in a heap in the Vase Room. 

It took a while to untangle themselves. Finally Richard spoke. "Well! Hope you all had a good time!" 

There was an enthusiastic clamor as everyone tried to share what they'd learned and heard that evening. 

"That's the kind of shindig I want when I buy the farm," said Uther cheerfully. 

"Good, because that's exactly what you're going to get," said Richard. "How was your dinner company?" 

"Wonderful!" Melissa's eyes were shining. "I got to see my Uncle Ollivander, and I haven't seen him since the summer. And Dorothea Fox -- she's amazing." She said the name with reverence. 

Richard clapped his hands. "Good, good, that's exactly what I wanted to hear! A chance to make new contacts, get in with some of the greatest wizards of our time -- that's what the Society's all about, isn't it? Advancing the house through fraternity and secrets!" 

"We've had some of both," said Riggs. 

"You can never get too much of either," said Richard fervently. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

[**Author's Note**] A coupla points for my four or five faithful readers. Ani -- The Dark is Rising has its own category under Books on FF.net. It's a five-book sequence, starting with Over Sea, Under Stone, and I HIGHLY, HIGHLY recommend it to EVERYONE. It's the best fantasy series I've ever read. Deeply stirring, entrancing imagery ... Kame - Good question, who's the star, Beth or the SSA? You can probably tell by the first book that it's hard to have /any/ hero at all, without disrupting the Canon. I love Beth, but I'd say she's more of a vehicle for telling a good story than an actual "star" ... so the answer is, the Society. UnrepentantReader and Sophie W. -- thanks, and updates are coming at the rate of 2 per day as long as I can keep it up. Kocchi -- come back! We miss you! 


	8. The Halloween Feast

**Chapter Eight: The Halloween Feast**

October came in damp and chilly. It was depressing to watch the autumn shrink into winter; tempers ran short as people realized that they were in for many dreary months. The entire Quidditch team caught cold. Madame Pomfrey revived them quickly with a few doses of Pepperup potion, which in the meantime made thick smoke billow out of their ears so that you could trace their flight patterns during practice. Life at Hogwarts went on as usual. There wasn't even anything for the S.S.A. to talk about. 

"Meeting's cancelled," Richard muttered at dinner one Thursday. The enchanted ceiling above him was filled with low gray clouds. "Pass it on." 

"How come?" Beth whispered back. 

He shrugged. "No new business. No old business, either. We might as well just go to bed early, for once." 

On the other hand, classes were as interesting as they had ever been. Defense Against Dark Arts was a special high point in the day. Aaron and Bruce, the unofficial peanut gallery, had initiated a game called Flummox the Lummox. Students got points for asking stupid questions, making Professor Lockhart stammer around for an answer, or discreetly insulting Lockhart to his face (it only counted if he didn't catch on, because if he did you were bound to lose five or ten house points). 

Care of Magical Creatures was almost as exciting. After they had fully discussed beast/being status among centaurs and similar creatures, Professor Kettleburn started bringing in animals for hands-on work. That day he had a fire full of salamanders for the class to "handle" -- or more accurately, play with. 

"Aren't you the cutest!" crooned Beth, as one scarlet lizard zipped around her desk. "Yes, you are!" 

Melissa was regarding the salamander with less enthusiasm. "No, he's not." 

"Don't listen to her," Beth cooed, picking it up and letting it crawl around on her hand. "She's just jealous." 

"Careful with these," Kettleburn warned from the front of the class. "They'll set stuff on fire if yer not cautious." 

"Yow!" Across the room, Mervin proved Kettleburn's point as the sleeve of his robe caught fire. He put it out with a spray of water from his wand. The Gryffindors sniggered. 

The bell to change classes rang. Professor Kettleburn collected the salamanders in a big bucket of ashes, and the students poured into the halls. Professor Snape was waiting outside. 

"May I have a moment, Miss Parson?" 

"Eh -- all right." She gave Bruce and Melissa a little shrug and joined Professor Snape on the other side of the hall. 

"I have a favor to ask," said Professor Snape. His gaze suddenly flickered away. "One moment please." 

One of the Weasley twins had just walked out of Kettleburn's classroom; there was a thin stream of smoke coming from one of his robe pockets. He had stolen one of the salamanders. Beth put a hand over her mouth to hide her grin. 

Professor Snape narrowed his eyes. His voice took on the soft, dangerous tone that he so often used on the Gryffindors. "What's in your pocket, Weasley?" 

"Nothing." The Weasley tried to look innocent as smoke continued to pour from his pocket. 

"Are you certain?" 

"Yeah -- ow!" He jerked his hip to one side and a badly-concealed look of pain flashed across his face. 

A smile crossed Professor Snape's lips, and Beth was sure that he was getting the same sadistic pleasure out of the scene as she was. "Are you all right, Weasley?" 

The smoke was thicker now, and flames were starting to lick the top of his pocket. "Uh -- fine, thanks -- really --" The Weasley hopped back and forth in an absurd attempt to keep his legs away from his flaming pocket. "Just some -- Pepperup potion -- uh, tablets --" 

His brother suddenly appeared at his side. "Professor McGonagall wants to see us immediately. We'd better get moving. Hi, Professor," he added to Snape, and they took off down the hall. Beth could hear one of them muttering "... think it burned a hole in my pocket ..." 

With a sigh, Snape turned back to Beth. 

"A few of my third-year students have asked to work on one of their potions over the weekend. I'd prefer to have an older student present, to help out or simply ... prevent any mishaps. I was wondering if you would mind." 

"Uh -- no," said Beth, surprised. "Sure, I can watch them." 

Professor Snape gave her a smile. "I'll have dungeon five unlocked by ten o'clock tomorrow then. Let me know if they need any additional time on Sunday." 

"All right." 

"Thank you. I'm sure you'll find it ... educational." 

Before she could ask what he meant, Professor Snape had swept away. 

***

The next day, Beth went down to dungeon five at ten o'clock. She took her Potions book for reference, and her Charms book, figuring that she could get some homework done if things went well. When she got there, the doors were open and the third-years were already there, hunched over a spellbook. They had their cauldron set up and a cool yellow fire blazing beneath it. She went in, then grinned. 

"Oh good, it's you two!" 

Evan Wilkes and Herne Rudisille looked up at her. Herne beamed. "Good, I'm glad it's someone we know," he said cheerfully, his curly head bobbing. "The way Snape was talking, it sounded like he'd be sending down a jailer and some ravenous guard dogs." 

"He is. They'll be here in a minute," Beth teased. "What are you two working on?" 

"Bottling fame, brewing glory, and putting a stopper in death," said Evan gloomily. He still hunched over the recipe; his straight black bangs fell in his eyes. 

"It's a cure for the mumps," said Herne. "Ours blew up in class. Snape gave us another chance at it. Good of him, really." 

"He's all right if you respect him," said Beth thoughtfully. "Need any help?" 

"Nope." Herne grinned sheepishly. "We know what we did wrong last time." 

"Yeah," said Evan, "we blew it up." 

Beth giggled. "Let me know if you need anything, then. I'll be working on Charms." 

Herne and Evan got to work preparing ingredients, and Beth opened her Charms book. 

She sat and stared at her homework. She didn't feel like doing Charms, when there was so much Alchemy to be done. The problem was, she didn't feel like doing Alchemy either. And on top of that, she hadn't even spoken to Blaise Zabini more that two or three times since the S.S.A. assignment. At least that's not a grade, she thought halfheartedly. Well, that was something she could work on here, and be interested in. 

"Either of you know anything about Blaise Zabini?" 

"Ow!" Herne burned his finger on the fire and hastily stuck it into his mouth. "What, there?" he mumbled. 

"Blaise Zabini." 

Evan tossed a handful of parsley into the potion. "Second-year Slytherin. Brown hair, light eyes. Lives in Stratford with her mother." He looked up through his dark bangs. "And you're saying it wrong. It's not 'Blaze' like a blaze of fire, the 's' is more soft. Like 'base' with an 'l' in it." 

"Oh." Beth was impressed. "You know her, then." 

"No." Evan went back to chopping asphodel root. 

"She's really nice," said Herne. He was measuring out frog brains into a large graduated cylinder. "And she did well at the chess tournament last year, remember? Semi-finalist." 

Beth covered a grin. "Right, the one that Jerome Marx set up so that he could sneak out to Hogsmeade." 

"Yeah, that one," said Herne. "That's all I know about her, anyway. She hangs around with Draco a lot, maybe you should ask him." 

He tipped the flask full of frog brains into the cauldron. 

Evan leapt out of his chair, shouting, "Not yet, I didn't put in the rat bile yet --!" He threw himself to the ground as the cauldron started to shake madly in its stand. Horrified, Beth ducked under her desk just as the entire contents of the potion exploded upwards in a single deafening boom. There was a splattering sound as uncooked frog brains rained on the ceiling and floor. 

They crawled out from under their cover, groaning at the mess before them. There wasn't a square foot of clean space on the walls. Beth gritted her teeth. 

"Well," she sighed, "guess we'll practice some Scouring Spells instead. Come on, we've only got so much time before Filch shows up." 

Herne's eyes were wide, and being the closest to the cauldron, his face was plastered with singed frog brains. "Filch! How should he know about this?" 

"You made a ruddy loud explosion," said Beth, busy Scouring the blackboard. 

"Not to mention," added Evan, "that Mrs. Norris is going to tell him." 

They all turned around in dismay. The skeletal gray cat that belonged to the caretaker hovered in the doorway like a ragged specter before slipping away, no doubt to bring Filch back to the scene of the crime. 

Beth let out a loud groan. "That's it then, detentions for everybody. Let's see how much we can get done before he gets here, at least." 

They set to work. Evan and Herne hadn't had much practice with Scouring Spells, and even with the three of them together, they barely had the floor and walls cleaned before they heard an unmistakable meow and an angry clomping sound coming up the halls. 

"It's been nice knowing you," Herne said dismally. 

Argus Filch burst into the room, tartan swinging around his neck, big boots stomping into the ground. "Aha! Makin' a mess in the dungeons," he snarled triumphantly. His yellow eyes were huge and gleeful in anticipation of the punishment he was about to inflict. "Sneakin' about to work on love potions or summat, no doubt." 

"Professor Snape knows we're here --" Beth started, but she broke off. Filch was very slowly raising his eyes to the ceiling. He fixed on the enormous splatter. A glop of unfinished potion dripped from the ceiling onto Herne's head. 

"What is that?" he hissed quietly. 

"F-frog brains," said Herne, cringing a little. 

Filch let his gaze drift downward; his ugly yellow eyes fell on Herne. His voice was very soft and very evil. "Frog brains, did you say?" 

Herne nodded mutely. 

"Frog brains. Frog brains!" Filch cried suddenly, as a high flush rose in his jaundiced cheeks. "Thought it'd be fun, did you? Make a little more work for me, did you? We'll see how that goes for you -- detentions for the lot of you!" Beth's mouth fell open in anger. "Sprayin' potions about like fireworks -- settin' things afire -- if it was up t' me you'd all be swingin' from chains cleanin' that ceiling with yer teeth!" He grimaced wickedly and treated them to the sight of his uneven, yellow teeth. "Who's yer head of house, now? Snape is it? Come on then, we'll see what he has to say about yer li'l adventure! Guard this room, Mrs. Norris," he ordered, and the cat gave a compliant meow and leapt onto the work table. 

"Off yer duffs, you three! Move along!" 

They followed Filch through the dungeons to Professor Snape's office. 

"We were cleaning it up," Herne grumbled mutinously. 

"Quiet back there!" 

"Well, we were," he repeated, more quietly. 

Filch stormed up to the office and pounded on the door. It creaked open and Professor Snape stood there, gazing at Filch with cool, unflinching distaste. "Yes, what do you want?" 

"Your students, perfessor -- makin' a mess in the dungeons --" 

"Ah," said Professor Snape, looking them over, "it failed again, did it?" Herne and Evan nodded. He turned back to Filch. "I assume you will take care of this ... catastrophe?" 

Filch's ugly face grew more bitter; Beth would have doubted that it was possible. "Of course, sir, but first may I recommend an appropriate punishment --" He bit off each word, making his sentence staccato. 

"I assure you, Mr. Filch, that these students will be punished quite enough if they cannot get a basic mump-reducing elixir to work before their next test. Thank you, that will be enough." 

"But sir -- the grime -- the _crime_ --" 

"There was no crime save ignorance," said Professor Snape coldly, "and unfortunately that is not a punishable offense. Good day, Mr. Filch." 

"But --" Filch stammered. The door closed in his face. He stood gaping at it for a few moments, breathing heavily; then he turned on the students. 

"You heard 'im, get yer things out o' that dungeon an' get out o' me sight. NOW!" he roared, and the three of them scurried back to Dungeon Five. 

"Good job, Snape!" cheered Herne, as they hastily grabbed up their ingredients. 

"I told you he was all right," said Beth, stuffing her books into her backpack. "Come on, let's go!" Mrs. Norris hissed at them on the way out, and they almost ran into Filch, carrying a mop and an extremely angry expression, as they bolted back to the common room. 

***

Beth avoided Argus Filch as much as she could in the following week, but something else was in the forefront of her mind: the annual Halloween Feast. Rumor had it that entertainment was going to be a bunch of dancing skeletons, which promised to be fun, although the same rumor mill suggested that the ghosts would be attending a party of their own and wouldn't be available for the Hogwarts feast. 

"Where are they going, then?" Herne asked curiously. 

"Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington's five hundredth deathday party," Riggs informed him stuffily. 

"Too bad," said Herne. "They added a gloomy kind of air, don't you think?" 

At last, it was Saturday. Beth and Melissa spent the afternoon prancing around excitedly until it was time to head to the Great Hall for the holiday. The halls swarmed with chattering students, eager to start the feast and forget about classes for the night -- hopefully, for the whole weekend. 

"Good luck you got out of detention, or you'd have missed the feast," Melissa grinned at Beth. 

She grinned back. "No kidding. Poor Herne, though -- he gets out of punishment on Saturday and gets caught after curfew the next Thursday. I guess he's still allowed to come, but he's got a detention next week." 

"Ooh." Melissa tugged on Beth's arm. "Look at this." 

The Great Hall was decorated in eerie splendor. Live bats swooped around the high, enchanted ceiling; enormous pumpkins had been hollowed out into bathtub-sized jack o lanterns; cobwebs crisscrossed the windows, and their makers cast elongated shadows on the walls. 

Beth whistled appreciatively. She hadn't been to a Halloween feast since her first year. At the last one, she had skipped the feast to sneak into the forbidden third-floor corridor; the year before that, the entertainment had been a musical group, and she had refused to go for fear of not having anyone to dance with. It had been pretty childish, she knew, but she still got the feeling that she would do the same if there was another threat of dancing. 

"Talk about atmosphere," she said, as she and Melissa sat at the Slytherin table. "But you know what I really miss?" 

"What's that?" 

"Costumes." 

Melissa snorted a laugh. "Costumes?" 

"Sure. Muggles -- well, American Muggles at least -- get dressed up and go around in costume for Halloween. You always have to have a costume." 

"Weird." Melissa shook her head. "What kind of costume, then?" 

"Oh -- imaginary stuff -- ghosts ..." The Bloody Baron floated by. "Werewolves ... vampires ... witches ..." 

Melissa raised her eyebrows. 

"Well ..." Beth blushed. "Never mind. Guess you don't need to." 

"Hey," said Melissa, leaning back in her chair, "there's a pair of empty seats by the second-years. Let's go sit by Pansy and Blaise. We can do a little eavesdropping. It'll make Rich happy at least." 

Beth agreed, and they moved down the table to where the second-years were clumped. 

"Excited about the Quidditch game, Draco?" Pansy Parkinson crooned, batting her eyes at the pale-haired Seeker. 

Draco smirked at her. "I'm excited about watching Potter break his winning streak. We've got five returning players." 

"And an excellent Seeker," added Pansy. 

Blaise Zabini spoke up for the first time. She was a small girl with short brown hair, and looked remarkably composed when contrasted with Pansy's posing and simpering. "Gryffindor has seven returning players," she observed. "And their Keeper's top." 

"So is ours," said Draco confidently. "And don't forget the secret weapon --" 

"Nimbus Two Thousand and One!" they said together. Draco was grinning broadly, obviously still proud that his father had obtained the fantastic broomsticks. 

At the front of the Hall, Dumbledore clapped his hands and declared, "Let the feast begin!" although no one was really paying attention. The feast sprung up, as it always did, from thin air onto glimmering golden dishes. It was a harvest medley: roast nuts and apples, corn, mixed fruits, jam and biscuits, ginger cake, pumpkin pudding, and plenty of candy. 

Beth took a sip from her goblet and made a face. "Pumpkin juice again!" 

Melissa grinned and drank a long draught of her own. "Sure, what else?" 

"Apple cider, anything. I don't know what you people see in the stuff. It's disgusting." 

Eventually the feast faded out, and Dumbledore rose to introduce the evening's entertainment. It was a troupe of dancing skeletons, eight long, bony figures capering and japing around the Great Hall with their bony fingers waggling and their jaws clacking against their mandibles. 

It was difficult to tell whether the dancing skeletons were intended to be creepy or funny. Certainly it was eerie to watch their empty skulls grin around at the Great Hall, hollow eye sockets wide and unblinking. On the other hand, the dance routines were amusing if not downright comical. Their arms and legs became props; they juggled each others' skulls with lackadaisical ease. "If Nearly Headless Nick was here," whispered Melissa, indicating the flying skulls, "he'd be gray with jealousy." Beth stifled a snigger. 

Finally the skeletons retired with much bowing and applause. Beth wondered where they would go now that their job was done. Did they live somewhere, in fleshless comfort, to perform throughout the year? Or did they return to some dry crypt (the S.S.A sepulcher came to mind) to sleep until the next Halloween? 

At the head table, Dumbledore had risen and started to speak. "First, let's thank our entertainment for the evening," he beamed at the skeletons. One of them gave a casual salute in response to the applause that roared up again from the audience. "I hope you all enjoyed yourselves. Special thanks to the kitchen elves, who provide our food year after year; Rubeus Hagrid, for the superb pumpkin lanterns, and who also helped hang some of the higher decorations; Argus Filch, who also lent a hand in decorating; Professor Kettleburn, who provided the bats; and all members of the staff and faculty who helped to make this a special night. Thank you for coming, and happy Halloween!" 

At that, the students groaned, stretched, and stood up to leave the Hall in droves. 

"I didn't know it was elves who ran the kitchens," said Beth, as she and the other Slytherins were shoved along in the tide of bodies. "I thought it was, I don't know, cooks or something." 

"House elves, sure," said Melissa. Her voice was a little muffled; being short, she had a tendency to get lost in mobs like this. "They come with old families. Mine's got a few, but we're lending most of them out to relatives. Binky does enough to cover for all the rest of them." 

"Binky, eh?" came a familiar, drawling voice behind them. Draco Malfoy, with Crabbe and Goyle on either side, was having less trouble getting through the crowd thanks to his monstrous cronies. "Mine's called Dobby. He's not a bad sort, very loyal. Been with the Malfoys for generations." 

They wound through the hallways, any more conversation precluded by the tightly packed mob of chattering students. Suddenly the person in front of Beth lurched to a halt; Beth went crashing into him and felt more students smashing into her from the sudden stop. 

Loud complaints started to arise. "What is this?" demanded Draco Malfoy, pushing to the front. Beth followed in his wake, taking advantage of her height. 

She stopped when the crowd was only two or three deep in front of her. Her mouth dropped open. 

Angry red words smeared across the wall, glimmering in the candlelight: THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE. To one side stood Harry Potter, flanked by the Granger girl and the youngest Weasley boy, looking both guilty and astonished at the writing. 

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!" The cry rang out over the heads of the students. Beth looked around for its source. Draco Malfoy had made it the whole way to the front of the crowd and stood reading the words with a look of frantic excitement on his face. The firelight glinted off of his pale hair and etched unusual shadows in his thin, white face. 

The people around Beth were nudging each other and pointing at the wall, as if there was more to be seen than the shimmering, foot-high threat. She followed their gaze. 

Hanging from a torch bracket was a still gray shape. It was Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat. 


	9. Herbal Prophecy

[_Author's Note_] A very happy 16th birthday to thistlemeg! Everybody go and review something that she wrote just for fun. ("Everybody" being the, uh, five people that are reading this, besides her.) 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Chapter Nine: Herbal Prophecy**

Beth felt a sharp jostle from behind. Argus Filch was shoving through the crowd, shouting, "What's going on in here? What's going on?" 

He saw the message. Then he saw his cat. He let out a horrible gasp and staggered backward, grasping at his neck and face. 

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" He noticed the three students standing huddled together, Potter in the front, and his face flushed instantly. "You! You've murdered my cat! I'll kill you! I'll --" 

"Argus!" 

Albus Dumbledore came sweeping down the corridor. Beth lost sight of him behind the stricken figure of Filch, but when he moved back into sight, he had the cat in his hand and more teachers had surrounded him. Now Dumbledore was speaking to Filch, the students, and the other teachers. Beth couldn't make out what he was saying, despite the fact that the hall was deathly silent. 

In an instant, Dumbledore strode down the hall, cat in hand and teachers in tow. 

Beth felt a nudge from behind. It was Richard. "We're meeting _right now_," he whispered in her ear, so close that it made her cheek tingle. Then he moved on to the other members. Beth turned and started working her way back through the crowd. 

"Oy, Beth! What's going on up there?" 

Aaron Pucey was trying to fight his way to the front of the crowd, but not having much luck. "Filch's cat got killed and hung off the wall," she told him hurriedly. His eyes lit up. 

"About time! What's the writing say?" Beth repeated the cryptic message in red paint. Aaron let out an impressed whistle. "Wish I could make it up there to see it myself!" 

"Uh -- I'm moving to the back so that everybody else can get up to the front," Beth lied. "Maybe there's some room for you." 

"Thanks, Beth!" Aaron beamed. He resumed worming his way through the crowd. Beth gave him a little nervous grin, and plunged through the mob in the other direction. 

Getting to the Vase Room, with all of the students about, was not an easy task. Twice Beth was asked where she was going; both times she had to pretend to be on the way to the bathroom. It must have been just her, though; almost everyone else was already there by the time Beth finally uttered the password and slipped into the Vase Room. 

If she thought it would be any more calm than the hallways, she was sorely mistaken. Half of the members were vigorously narrating what they had seen. The ones who weren't close enough to actually see what had happened hung on the words of those who had. Vivian seemed especially alarmed at the death of Mrs. Norris. 

"She never bothered _me_," she said, sounding a little distraught. "It's not going to be the same without her. And poor Filch! He's lost his only friend." 

"That's right, anyway," muttered Herne, who after the whole frog-brains incident was not at all keen on Filch or his cat. 

Richard came into the Vase Room, his eyes alight with excitement. "Riggs can't come, the prefects have to meet with Dumbledore," he announced, striding toward the podium. "He said he'd use the Ledger himself later. Right now, we're checking this out ourselves." He threw open the Ledger and almost shouted, "The Chamber of Secrets!" 

The pages of the Ledger flipped madly, throwing up a cloud of dust. It slowed and eventually fell open to a page near the back. The S.S.A crowded around it, anxious to get a look. Richard shooed them away. 

"Just listen. It says, from the top of the page: 'Salazar Slytherin, finally fed up with Gryffindor, created a hidden room deep within the castle, unknown to the other founders. In it he placed the means to avenge his house's honor and to rid the school of unworthy students. Only his true heir would be able to open the room and use this avenger.'" 

"Unworthy students? Who's that?" wondered Bruce. 

"And what's this avenger?" Vivian asked, intrigued. 

"It might be in here if you let me finish!" snapped Richard. He cleared this throat. "Ever since, the Chamber of Secrets has laid in undisturbed wait for the heir of Slytherin to open the room and control the avenger." 

"Enemies of the Heir, beware!" Melissa recited eagerly. "That's it! The Heir of Slytherin!" 

Richard glared at her in exasperation. "Do you mind?" He looked back down at the page. His face fell. "That's all," he admitted sheepishly. 

"Well, what's on the page before that?" Vivian asked reasonably. "That might tell us more. You did only ask for the Chamber of Secrets, after all." 

Richard flipped a page back and scanned it quickly. "Says that Slytherin and Gryffindor had a fight over whether or not to let Muggle-borns into the school. I'll bet that's what he meant by unworthy students." 

Beth's jaw dropped. "That's ridiculous!" she blurted, thinking of her Muggle father. 

"Salazar was always big on pure blood," Richard shrugged. "Even the Sorting Hat knows it. I don't even know of any Slytherins that aren't all-wizard on both sides." 

"There's a few," Beth muttered darkly. 

Herne had noticed something else. "If the enemies of the Heir are muggle-borns, why did he kill a cat of all things?" 

There was silence as the question was considered. "Well, maybe Filch is muggle-born," Vivian suggested. Melissa disagreed. 

"Filch is a very common wizarding name," she said, rather snobbily. "My parents know loads of them. He's as pureblood as I am. Besides, what kind of Muggle would name their kid Argus?" 

"Well --" Beth said, half to draw attention away from the pureblood/muggle-born question, "-- maybe the cat just got in the way. Stumbled by when he was writing on the wall. So he killed her so she wouldn't go darting back to Filch." 

"Here's a better question," Evan spoke up. He stood a little apart from the group, and the shadow from a large vast cast his features in sharp relief. "Who _was_ he?" 

Richard smiled a little. "That's it. Who's the Heir of Slytherin? Who opened the Chamber of Secrets?" 

"He must be related to Slytherin somehow," Daedalus reckoned quietly. "Great-great-grandson, maybe. Or he shares the same ideas. He's got to be in our house." 

Melissa turned on him, eyes flashing. "How do you know it was a he? It might have been a girl." 

Daedalus drew back looking alarmed. "Might be," he agreed hastily. 

Evan joined in again, his voice low and cool. "Is it any of us?" 

There followed ten affirmations of innocence. 

"It's been opened before," said Mervin. "Remember? Check Tom Riddle's entry." 

At the sound of the name, the pages of the Ledger whirled until it came to the log of members. Richard read: "Tom Riddle, age 66. Skills: Parselmouth, book charms, excellent leadership abilities. Current location, deceased. Former Prefect and Head Boy. Wand: Yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches. Closed the Chamber of Secrets. Raised in a Muggle orphanage." He grinned up at Mervin. "What do you know, you're right! Let's see, Riddle was here from '38 to '46. That means the Chamber was closed around fifty years ago. But why is it back open now?" He closed the Ledger and looked around at them. He was positively beaming. 

"I don't know who the Heir is or why he -- uh, or she -- killed a cat or where they came from. But there are two things I do know. One, if it's the Heir of _Slytherin_, we're the safest group of people in the school. Two, if we find out what's going on, that means a lot of glory for our house. We'd get hundreds of house points, win the cup back for sure. This is our chance to make up for last year." His eyes were alight with the kind of ambition that Beth knew only came from Slytherin house. "We're going to find the heir and find out what he wants. Keep your eyes open. This is our moment. We're going to crack this secret or die trying." 

Beth shuddered at a sudden chill. She thought that Richard would definitely live up to his promise -- and it frightened her. 

***

"It's not dead." 

Beth wiped the sleep out of her eyes as she sat down to breakfast the day after Halloween. "Good morning to you." 

"Filch's cat. It's not dead. It's been petrified." Melissa looked like she'd been waiting to tell Beth the news for hours. "They have it up in the hospital wing, all stiff and frozen. They're going to revive it with some mandrakes, after they're grown up." 

Someone spoke up. "It's got to be a disappointment, having your work destroyed like that." A very similar voice followed: "You'll have to try extra hard next time." 

They looked up. The Weasley twins and their belligerent friend Jordan stood beside the table, arms crossed and looking very smug. 

"What are you trying to say?" demanded Melissa. 

Jordan stepped forward. "We saw the two of you sneaking away from the scene of the crime," he accused. "Pretty suspicious if you ask me." 

Beth stared at him in astonishment. "Sure, we should have waited around in case it came back," she blurted angrily. 

"_That_ would have proved our innocence," said Melissa, just as angrily. 

Before Beth knew it, Bruce was standing behind them, glaring at the Weasleys with almost surprising hatred. "What," he growled, "are you doing here?" 

Jordan glared right back at him. "We know it was a Slytherin who killed that cat. It's going to be one of us next, isn't it?" 

"If I was the Heir, you would've been _first_," spat Bruce. 

"Giving yourself away," snarled one of the Weasleys. 

"We're on you," his brother added angrily. 

A long shadow fell over them. "Is there trouble here, Mr. Bletchley? Mr. Jordan?" 

Professor Snape had come up silently. The three Gryffindors looked up at him, cowed but defiant. "Just chatting," said a Weasley, unable to totally hide his sneer. "We were just leaving." 

As they scurried away, Jordan cast one last glance back at the Slytherin table. His dark face was filled with more than suspicion -- it was a little fear, and a little hate. The expression in his eyes burned in Beth's mind. He was glaring at them as if he was sure he was looking at the devil himself. 

***

That wasn't the last time Beth saw that look in someone's eyes. All week, students in the other houses would move to the other side of the hallway when she and her friends were coming, or sit around in huddles pointing at any group of Slytherins that happened to be in the library. 

Beth met up with Melissa after an especially tense Alchemy class, and they walked back to the common room together. 

"Salazar was crazy. This isn't helping the Slytherin cause one bit," Beth complained. "Everyone thinks it's one of us!" 

"Yeah," Melissa agreed, "although you've got to admit it's nice getting a little respect. Gwernabwy," she said, and the door to the common room slid open. They stepped inside. 

"I think it's funny, don't you, how everyone's driving themselves mad," Melissa went on. "Running around wondering who's the Heir of Slytherin." 

Beth shushed her quickly. "Not so loud, not everybody knows about the Heir! What if somebody hears?" 

"Oh don't worry," Melissa scoffed, without dropping her voice at all. "Everyone knows all about the Chamber of Secrets. They've been getting books out of the library like mad -- ask Pince -- and someone even got Binns to tell them all about it." Professor Binns, the ghost who taught history, gave lectures as dry as his own long-buried bones. 

"Binns? How'd they trick him into that?" 

"I'd have tried flattery." Melissa flipped her hair back. "Works every time." She waved her hand. "Anyway, it's going to be over soon. I'm going to figure out who it is." 

"Uh-huh." 

"Sure," said Melissa. She pulled a tea set from her backpack and started setting it up on a table beside the fire. "I'm going to read tea leaves to get it." She reached into a little cloth bag and put a pinch of tea leaves into the tea cup. 

"Melissa," said Beth, "Divination is a total crock." 

"It is not," said Melissa hotly. "You never know when something will come up." She lifted the tea kettle off of the fire and poured boiling water into her teacup. She swirled the leaves around to let them steep. "Besides -- I have to have a semester project, and this might as well be it." 

"I hope Trelawney doesn't mind getting a prediction that doesn't make any sense." 

Ignoring her, Melissa swirled the tea again and waited for it to cool down. "Divination is all about interpretation," she said snobbily. "It's not a matter of being able to see the future, it's being able to interpret the signs. Anything we get from the tea leaves can help us narrow it down." 

"Right, we can get it down to Oolong or Earl Grey." 

"You are not funny," said Melissa. 

She dipped a finger in the tea to test it. Satisfied, she picked it up. "Who is the Heir of Slytherin?" she asked dramatically, then downed the tea in one long gulp. 

She put the cup back down with a grimace. "Too bad sugar negates all of the magic in the tea." Picking up her copy of Unfogging the Future, she started to flip through the chapter on tea leaves. 

Beth peeked into the teacup. "That one looks like a marijuana leaf. Maybe the Heir's a junkie." 

"_What?_" 

"Just Muggle talk, sorry." 

Melissa picked up the teacup and peered inside. "All right. I'll read it and you look up the signs." She thrust the open book into Beth's hands. "First -- that one looks like a ... a lobster." 

Rolling her eyes, Beth bent over the book. "A lobster. Means a secret, puzzle or riddle." 

"See? It's the Chamber of _Secrets_. This isn't just bunk. Next -- that's a key. Definitely." 

"Key ..." Beth flipped to another page. "No keys." 

"Well -- anything that looks like a key?" 

Beth scanned the list of symbols. "There's a tree." 

Tilting her head, Melissa looked back into the teacup. "Okay, it looks like a sideways tree. What's that?" 

"A tree indicates demonic possession, taking over a body, or, more generally, impersonation." Beth had to admit it was kind of fun to interpret the signs, since it wasn't for class. "What next?" 

"An arch -- a rainbow." 

Beth read through the list. "Is it more wiggly on top or bottom?" 

"Top." 

"It means the color red then. Anything else?" 

"Yeah, two -- a ball of yarn and some kind of rodent." 

"Ball of yarn. That means hair." Beth laughed. "A very useful symbol, all the great soothsayers predicted stuff about hair. And a rodent ... does it look more like a rabbit or a weasel?" 

"Definitely a weasel," said Melissa. 

"A weasel," Beth read, "means nothing more than a weasel." 

Melissa's face fell. "That's all the leaves -- the rest is just broken up." She took a breath. "All right, what is it when you put it all together?" 

Beth thought about it. "A riddle taking over the body of a red-furred weasel." 

There was a pause. Then, together, they started to laugh. 

Melissa chucked the tea leaves in the fire. "All right, it is a crock. Maybe I'd better do my project on crystals." 

Riggs wandered over to the fire. He was reading a letter and frowning. He looked up at them and his expression cleared. "Aha, tea! Mind if I have a cup?" 

"Sure," said Melissa, "it didn't do us any good." 

Riggs set down his letter and conjured a mug from thin air. While he was making his tea, Beth glanced down at the letter. All she could see was the ending: 

_    and I will say no more. Keep away from this mystery, Randall.   
    Jules Rothbard
_

"You're writing to Rothbard?" she said. 

Riggs sat back down, stirring his tea. "Yes -- yes, I thought he may have some insight on the Chamber of Secrets." He picked up the letter and put it in his pocket. "He was less than helpful." 

"Have you read the Ledger yet?" asked Melissa in a low voice, looking around to be sure no one was listening. 

"About the Chamber? Mm hmm," said Riggs, taking a drink of tea. He made a face. "Ugh, this is Herbal Prophecy, isn't it?" 

"It's defective," said Melissa glumly. "It told us that the Heir of Slytherin was a riddle in the body of a red-furred weasel." 

Riggs gave her an odd look. "Really," he said slowly. "That's very ... Nostradamus-quality." 

"What did Rothbard say?" Beth pressed. 

Riggs waved his hand. "Not much useful. He said it was a dark spot in the history of the Slytherin house and that we oughtn't dig too deeply. Balderdash if you ask me. I'm writing to some other alumni to hear their take on it." He took another sip of tea, and screwed up his face again. "Warn me next time you offer me divination tea, will you?" 

"Only if you warn me next time you want to drink my homework assignment," said Melissa. 


	10. The Frozen First-Year

**Chapter Ten: The Quidditch Game**

Three students stood on the Hogwarts grounds, staring into the morning sky. 

"Going to rain," predicted Bruce, with a worried eye directed at the heavens. 

Melissa chewed a piece of toast reflectively. "Fly low. Maybe you can get some mud to throw in their eyes." 

It was the day of the Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match, and every indication backed up Bruce's prophecy. The clouds hung low in a gray sky; it was unusually cold for the beginning of November. Besides, it had been a very red sunrise, and (according to Professor Trelawney) that always indicated foul weather. 

"Just try to stay warm," Beth advised. "Get sick this game and you'll be miserable for the rest of the season." 

They wandered back inside. The Great Hall was filled with students and teachers eagerly discussing the first Quidditch match of the season. Bruce went off to join his teammates at the end of the table. Beth and Melissa, having already eaten and with nothing else to do until the game, just milled around looking at the tapestries on the walls. 

"Centuries old, these," Melissa said, gazing up at a banner with lots of knotwork embroidered around a portrait of Salazar Slytherin. A pair of columns was sewn on either side of Salazar's standing figure, and a long snake with bright red plumage wound around his feet. "Must have been made at the time the castle was built." 

"You can't tell," Beth remarked. She stared up at an elaborate stitching of Helga Hufflepuff holding her pet badger. Helga's cross-stitched face creased into a smile. Beth smiled back. 

Melissa had moved down the wall to a scarlet and gold portrait. "Good old Godric Gryffindor," she remarked bitterly. "Salazar may have left behind a secret chamber, but old Godric left us a house full of pains in the --" 

"Team's leaving," Aaron Pucey interrupted brightly. He came up and gave Beth a little punch in the arm. "See you two after." 

"Good luck!" 

"Clobber them," Melissa ordered. She jerked a thumb at Slytherin's portrait. "Salazar says so." The embroidered serpent raised its head and nodded vehemently, flicking its tongue in and out. 

"Will do," Aaron promised, and he gave them a big grin and a wave before dashing off to follow the rest of the team down to the Quidditch pitch. 

Beth watched him go and couldn't help but smile. "He's so excited." 

"Well, it's his first game," Melissa said. "Too bad it couldn't be against the Hufflepuffs. Make it a nice, easy win." 

The actual game started at eleven o'clock. By then both teams had escaped to their locker rooms and the Quidditch pitch had filled up with crimson and green supporters, from both the school and the town. Gilderoy Lockhart wore jade-green to support the Slytherins and sat eagerly beside Professor Snape, who looked like he was at his own hanging instead of a Quidditch game. 

"You know, I used to play a little Quidditch myself --" babbled Lockhart gaily. "Could've gone professional, Puddlemore United was mad after me, if I hadn't decided to devote my life to eradicating the Dark Arts -- not to blow my own horn, of course --" 

"Toot toot," said Snape dourly. 

Both teams came out on the field then, and started swooping around the goalposts before taking their positions. Madame Hooch made the captains shake hands before throwing the Quaffle into the air. 

"And the Quaffle is taken right away by Captain Marcus Flint of Slytherin --" Lee Jordan narrated from the press box. "He's zooming down the field -- passes to Adrian Pucey of Slytherin -- Pucey going in for the score, menaced by a Bludger but it misses -- Wood lunges -- misses -- that's a goal, ten points to Slytherin! All of forty seconds and Slytherin is already on the board!" 

The Slytherins cheered wildly. There was a wave of boos and hisses from the Gryffindors' supporters as the players regrouped and started off again. 

Beth and Melissa huddled under an umbrella in the Slytherin section of the stands. Melissa had brought her binoculars. True enough, it started raining not long after the game began. Beth had been prepared for a hard-fought game, but it turned out to be hardly a game at all -- with their excellent brooms and sharp formations, the Slytherins scored six times before Oliver Wood called a time out. 

"Aaron's really good," breathed Beth, while the players grouped into a huddle. "He and Warrington are just killing the Weasleys." 

"Looks like they're trying to kill Potter," said Melissa critically. "I'm watching him and Draco, and there's always a Bludger somewhere near Potter. Oh well, rule number one in the Beater's Bible --" 

"Take out the Seeker," they said together, and giggled. 

On the field, the Slytherin team suddenly roared with laughter and looked over at the Gryffindors, who scowled back. All of them were dripping wet by now. Melissa peered through her binoculars at them. "Hooch is going towards Wood," she narrated. "Looks like time's up -- Wood doesn't look happy -- neither do the rest of them, for that matter --" 

"Course not, they're down sixty to nothing," grinned Beth. "If only Draco would get that Snitch ..." 

Game play resumed and the rain began to really beat down. "Now it's Uther Montague with the Quaffle -- escapes a Bludger and two Gryffindor chasers -- oh no, stop him somebody -- Keeper Wood misses the block and it's another goal to Slytherin. Score seventy to zero, Slytherin favor." Lee Jordan sounded dramatically disappointed; first, that his team was losing, and second, that the Slytherins hadn't been fouled even once. 

Beth was watching Bruce, but Melissa had her binoculars trained on Potter. "What's he doing?" she wondered aloud. Beth looked up. Potter was darting around like he was trying to escape a hive of killer bees; there was a Bludger right on his tail. 

"Oh no, he's trying that falling-off-his-broom thing again!" Beth wailed. "Good thing nobody's falling for it this time!" 

"Draco's right up there with him," Melissa said, her binoculars clenched in both hands. "What is he _doing_, doesn't he know he's got to get the Snitch -- ooh, _that_ hurt!" she exclaimed gleefully, as a Bludger took Potter in the elbow. Potter dipped and swerved, obviously in great pain. "Bet he broke his arm -- oh good, maybe he'll be out all season --" 

Broken arm or no, Potter suddenly swung around and dived at Draco, who ducked out of the way ... he reached out his good arm and clenched his fingers around something ... and made a nose dive for the ground. 

"Come on, crash!" Melissa cried, jumping up and down in excitement. Her bouncing shook loose a lot of water from the top of the umbrella and it came pouring onto Beth's head. She barely noticed, because right then Potter had collapsed into the mud, and Lee Jordan was calling excitedly: 

"Potter has the Snitch! That's the end of the match, ladies and gentlemen, Gryffindor wins one hundred and fifty to seventy!" 

The Slytherins all moaned. Gilderoy Lockhart stood up in the front, bitter disappointment on his handsome face. 

"Well ... can't win them all, can we ... I say, Severus, I'm going to go down and see if the boy needs any help. He looks a bit injured." 

Potter looked more than a little injured; he hadn't moved since he had landed, and he was surrounded by a big mass of people. Some little first-year boy was darting around taking pictures of him on the ground. Lockhart went down to the field and was soon seen elbowing his way to Potter's side. 

They carried Potter off the field to wild cheers from the Gryffindor supporters. The Slytherins were less enthused. They trudged back to the common room in the rain, feeling like the weather perfectly mimicked their mood. Possibly the only one who wasn't disappointed was Marcus Flint. He was downright furious. 

"Right there -- six inches -- just have looked --" he bellowed, as Draco quailed from his wrath. "Practically sitting on top of your head -- didn't even notice --" 

The other team members were more sympathetic. 

"You can't get _distracted_ like that," Uther lectured patiently. "The best broom in the world's no good if you don't keep your focus. Potter topped you in the concentration department, that's for sure." 

"Oh, shut up," grumbled Draco, and he stormed away. 

***

Bruce was only slightly more cheerful the next day. 

"Potter's still in pain," he reported. "Maybe it'll last all season." 

He was sprawled in front of the fire in the common room, playing chess with Evan Wilkes. The defeat of the Quidditch team had totally wiped out any motivation he had to do schoolwork. Instead he sulked around trying to improve his chess game, one painful loss at a time. 

"Just keep it quiet," said Beth primly, as a pawn squealed in defeat. "I'm trying to do Alchemy here. It's no nap in the sun." 

Bruce didn't hear her; he was moaning in agony as his second knight was clubbed and dragged from the board. 

Without warning, students started to come into the common room and gather, chattering excitedly. 

"What's this?" demanded Bruce, looking around distractedly while his chessmen tried to regain his attention. 

"Checkmate," said Evan. 

Bruce looked back at the chessboard and swore. 

"This looks like the whole house," Beth observed, looking around at the throng. Riggs was dodging in and out, totally failing keep things from going mad around them. 

Professor Snape came in and the common room grew silent. "There has been a second attack," he said, his soft voice echoing perfectly in the low room. "A first-year Gryffindor named Colin Creevey was found in the hallways last night. He was Petrified, just as the caretaker's cat. I must let you know that they are far from dead and the condition is not permanent." 

"Bully for him," Bruce muttered, still looking bitter at losing the chess game. 

"Professor Sprout will be able to reverse the spell as soon as her mandrakes are mature. Until then they will remain in the infirmary -- and for today, you are all to remain inside the dormitories with the exceptions of mealtimes. The only people entering or leaving will be myself and your prefect. Is everything clear?" 

A second-year girl raised her hand nervously. "Do they know who did it?" Beth saw that it was Blaise Zabini. _Asks sensible questions_, she noted to herself. 

"No." Professor Snape shook his head. "As such, safety precautions will be implemented. Be extremely careful to guard the passwords to the common room, for example. Your prefect will change them every other day." 

Riggs looked up from where he had been consoling a frightened first-year and nodded curtly. He looked a little wild-eyed, and a little stunned. 

There were no more questions, and no more answers. Professor Snape left the common room, and the story fell into the hands of the rumor mill. 

***

The entire school was completely distracted for the rest of the day. Since no one had actually seen Creevey's frozen body and Madame Pomfrey was guarding him like a lion, rumors about what had happened to him grew bigger and wilder. The fact that Professor Snape had come into the common room to give them an accurate description of the attack made no difference whatsoever. 

"Somebody was talking at dinner -- they said he was freeze-dried," said Aaron, his eyes wide. 

"I heard he wasn't just frozen," Bruce said, "I heard he was _dismembered_." 

"Like a side of beef," Aaron said somberly. 

Beth rolled her eyes. "_Honestly_." 

"Somebody said he was stoned," Bruce added. "And it sounded like they meant, stoned, like with rocks, you know?" 

"Maybe," said Aaron, "he was turned into a stone and then broken up, and they have to put the pieces together and that's why we can't get in to see him!" He looked triumphant at his own infallible logic. 

Mervin came up excitedly. "Guess what I heard! They had to pry his camera out of his cold, dead fingers, and when they checked it, the film had been burned out!" 

Bruce let out a laugh; Aaron snorted. "Right, and Wood's going to hand us the Quidditch Cup." 

Mervin looked hurt. 

There was a very loud noise as the door to the common room slammed shut. Melissa tore inside, hands at her face. She hurried through and up the stairs to the bedroom, and only after she passed did Beth realize with a start that she was crying. 

"What's on with her?" said Bruce, giving her a weird look. Beth punched him in the arm. "Ow!" 

"For heaven's sake, have a heart, Bruce," Beth snapped. "I'd better go see what's wrong." She left the boys in the common room, looking at each other in confusion, Bruce rubbing his sore arm. 

The curtains on Melissa's bed were drawn by the time Beth got upstairs. She could hear sobbing even from outside. Not entirely sure what to do, she sat on her own bed for a few minutes while Melissa went on crying steadily. After a while, she stood up and went to Melissa's bed. 

"Mel?" 

Sniffling. "Go away." 

"It's Beth, are you all right?" 

"What do you think?" 

There was an awkward pause. "Mel, you're making me worried. What is it?" 

A sob. "N-nothing." 

"It sure doesn't sound like nothing." That was a line that her father used; Beth was surprised to her it come out of her own mouth. 

There was a little more sniffling and a nose blow. "Get in here." Perplexed, Beth pulled back the curtains and crawled inside. 

Melissa sat in the dark, surrounded by tissues, her eyes red and puffy. She looked like she was still on the verge of tears. "It's -- him. Galen. Stupid, stupid Galen!" She beat the mattress with every word. "He said ... he doesn't ..." 

Beth sat silent. 

"He doesn't want to see me anymore, and he doesn't really love me, and I don't care because I _hate his stinking guts!_" 

Speechless, Beth reached out and gave her friend a tight hug. 

"I don't believe ..." Melissa went on, still sniffling. "He was just ... but I never thought he'd break up with me ..." A sob caught in her throat. "After something that stupid! It's not even my fault! He's just a lousy jock, a dumb _Gryffindor_, and who needs him anyway!" 

"Why did he ... break up with you?" Beth asked tentatively. 

"He says that kid in his house was petrified by the Heir of Slytherin," Melissa started, but her face screwed up suddenly. "And so they're all -- mad, and scared -- and ... he said ..." she sniffed "... that he didn't want anybody ... to know ..." She could hardly speak. "That he was dating ... a ... S-Slytherin!" 

And she burst into tears. 

***

It took Melissa a few days to calm down enough to even care that another student had been turned into a living statue. Having missed the first round of rumors and hearsay, she was still curious. 

"Surely someone's investigating," she said at breakfast one day, picking around at a plate of strawberry waffles. "From the Ministry, you know. I mean, if it was my kid I'd be furious." 

"The parents were Muggles," said Beth. By this time, the stories had mostly straightened out into the truth. "They'd flip." 

Melissa propped her chin on one hand. "Think they don't know, then?" 

"Might not." 

Melissa swirled her waffles a little more. "Maybe the Daily Prophet has something in it. Reports from the Ministry." 

"Let's go ask Riggs," said Beth reasonably. "He always gets the paper. I think he reads it to make himself look smarter." 

"Not that he needs it," said Melissa. 

Riggs ate with the prefects at the head table and true enough, he was buried in the business section of the newspaper when Beth and Melissa approached. He looked up at them with some slight irritation. 

"Yes?" 

"Can we borrow the Prophet?" Beth asked. "We want to read what they're saying about the, you know, the attack." 

Riggs folded his newspaper up. "Yes and no." 

"What?" 

"Yes you can borrow the paper. No, you can't read about the attack. They haven't written anything about it." 

"Nothing at all?" 

Riggs shook his head curtly. "Not a word. All the better, I say. If word gets out, there'll be inquiries and lawsuits -- parents pulling their children out -- a bloody mess, to sum it up. Best to keep it to ourselves." 

"But how can they?" Melissa pressed. "Shouldn't somebody know? The kid's parents?" 

"Are Muggles," said Riggs. ("I told you so," said Beth.) "Apparently Dumbledore didn't want to alarm them. After all, with no exposure to magic, what could they do about it? They'd think he was dead and rush to bring him home." 

An owl swooped in and dropped a letter on Riggs's lap. "Ebenezer Nott," Beth read, before Riggs grabbed it up. "Isn't that --" She stopped suddenly, the words "the old S.S.A. secretary" still on her lips. 

Riggs nodded. "We still keep in contact," he said. "Ministry connections. He may be able to get me a summer position." 

"Ask him about the Chamber of Secrets!" Beth said. "Maybe he was around the last time." 

Riggs gazed down at the letter thoughtfully. "Maybe he was." 


	11. The Stolen Skin

**Chapter Eleven: The Stolen Skin**

After the fervor over the Petrification of Colin Creevey died down, November progressed into a dreary sort of routine. Beth celebrated Thanksgiving by herself without event, although by some stroke of luck (possibly Dumbledore intervention) they had pumpkin pie for dessert that day. 

"I don't understand it," sniffed Melissa, only half joking. "_We_ don't set aside a holiday for gluttony." Her mood had substantially improved over the past few weeks, to the point where she could say Galen's name without getting teary. 

"Your ancestors never lost two-thirds of their colony over the winter," Beth replied. "Besides, British food isn't worth glutting on." 

"Got that right," said Bruce glumly, picking at a plate of hummus. 

Herne got caught on the way to an S.S.A. meeting and had to spend an evening polishing the suits of armor on the fourth floor. He came back thoroughly unnerved by having to listen to their bodiless laughs as he took off their helmets for cleaning, and was jumpy for a week afterward. 

The days grew shorter and the homework assignments got longer. Time and time again Beth fell behind in Alchemy, only to sit awake by the fire late into the night, catching up on past homework problems. By mid-December she was at least a chapter behind. She wasn't the only one. 

"I can't follow this stuff on quantities," Penelope Clearwater griped one day before class began. 

Cedric Diggory shrugged. He could be a little exasperating, but Beth had to admit that he was nice to look at. "If we all do bad on the test, maybe Vector'll curve up the grades. She does in Alchemy." 

"Or we can all fail together," said Stebbins. 

It took another two disastrous classes before she got up the nerve to go ask for help. That Thursday afternoon she swallowed her courage -- and her pride -- and went down to Professor Snape's office deep in the dungeons. 

She took a breath and knocked on the door. 

"Come in." 

Biting her lip, she opened the door and peeked inside. Professor Snape sat behind a broad desk. On the shelves behind him, all kinds of disgusting things were pickled in vats and vials. The room was badly lit, and on the far wall was a row of cupboards -- Snape's private stock. 

"Can I help you, Miss Parson?" 

"I-I had a question in Alchemy." She came in and sat down in front of his desk nervously. 

Professor Snape leaned back in his chair and watched her from below his lank black hair. "Go on." 

"Well, it's about quantities. I was just confused --" She took a breath. "Say you need two rat tails for a potion, but all the rat tails you have are really small, half as big as a regular rat tail. Would you use two then, or double it to four, since they're smaller?" 

A smile flitted across Professor Snape's face. "So nice so see a student who is genuinely interested in learning." Beth ran a high flush and ducked her head a little. "In this case, if we assumed that they were all from the same breed of rat, and all from adult rats -- you'll recall how the maturity of the ingredients affects the properties -- then you would still use two, regardless of size." 

"How come?" 

He went on at Beth's confused expression. "When whole ingredients are used, the important factor is the _composition_ of the item more than the amount. The shape and the texture give the potion its properties. Do you understand? In the case of _powdered_ rat tails, it would be different. Let me give you an example." He stood up and went to his ingredients cupboard, still talking as he rummaged through the drawers. "The skin of a boomslang is extremely valuable in transformation potions, and very rare. The creature comes in varying sizes, so one can never be entirely sure of how big or small its skin will be. Since its function in the brew is to strain the other ingredients, for instance, the size is not important; the fact that it comes in one piece matters. Here's one --" 

Professor Snape broke off suddenly, still gripping an open drawer. The knuckles of his hands grew very white. "Someone has stolen a boomslang skin," he said in a dangerously soft voice. Beth watched, fascinated, as his whole body seemed to tense up. Then he let out his breath in a long hiss and his shoulders relaxed. He turned back around and very slowly strode back to his chair, rigid as a board. 

"I'm sorry," he said, almost spitting every word. "I can't show you what I had intended." He was almost shaking in his effort to control his anger. "Do you -- understand --the concept?" 

"I think so," said Beth hastily. "Thanks for your help." She gathered her backpack and stood up to leave. She added, after a short hesitation, "I hope you catch the thief." 

Professor Snape sat back in his chair, gazing at the open cupboard past his steepled fingers. "I think," he said slowly, in a faraway but vaguely threatening voice, "that I will." 

Beth took one look at the murderous glint in his eye, and hurried out of the office. 

Going around the corner she almost ran into Penelope Clearwater, who clutched her Alchemy book as if it was a favorite toy. Beth laughed off her embarrassment. "Going to see Snape?" 

The sixth-year Ravenclaw nodded, looking a little annoyed. 

"He's in a mood. Be careful," Beth warned good-naturedly. 

Penelope's face fell. "I -- wasn't going to see him," she said, flicking a nervous glance to Snape's office. From inside, there was the faint sound of glass breaking. "Just coming through." She hurried off in one direction. Beth shrugged and went on her way. 

Melissa and Bruce were already in the library researching werewolves for an essay for Kettleburn. They were poring over a huge stack of texts with titles like Lycanthropic Moon and Hairy Snout, Human Heart. 

"Find anything good?" she asked, sitting down with them. 

"A little," Melissa replied absently. She looked up and rubbed her eyes hard. "This little print's making it hard to see." 

Bruce apparently wasn't having the same problem. "Listen to this," he said eagerly. "Some Muggle named Peter Staub or something once thought he was a werewolf, and ate like six people before they caught him. Cannibal, he was. Very bloody." 

"Where was that?" asked Beth, fascinated. 

"Germany. Back in the 1400s or something. German Muggles used to be crazy after werewolves, they thought they were everywhere. French too." 

Melissa was leaning close to her book, squinting. "Did you see Snape?" 

"Yeah." Beth was going to go on, but the scene suddenly occurred to her again: Snape's theft, and his badly concealed rage. She lowered her voice to an excited whisper. "Somebody robbed his cabinet!" 

Bruce dropped his voice. "Really? Of what?" 

"Boomslang skin. Used in transformations, he said." 

Melissa looked up from her book suddenly. "Transformation potions?" 

Beth nodded. 

"You mean like -- turning someone into something else?" 

"Sure, I guess --" 

"Changing the way someone is ... altering their form ..." 

"Mel, what are you getting at?" 

"Couldn't you use a potion ... to Petrify someone?" Melissa's eyes were wide and excited. 

Bruce gave a start. 

Melissa went on quickly. "What if it's not a charm? What if it's something else -- what if the heir of Slytherin was Petrifying people by force-feeding them potion?" 

Beth gaped at Melissa, then nodded vigorously. "Of course! He must have run out and needed to restock." 

"In that case, I'll bet it's not long until he strikes again," Bruce said, brow creased with concern. 

Melissa stood up. "Come on. We've got to find Richard." 

They found a whole group of S.S.A members studying at one of the tables on the other side of the library. Eagerly, Beth told them what she'd learned. 

"It's true," Daedalus agreed. "I researched transformations, and boomslang is one of the quickest ways. Of course, to be an Animagus you'd have to drink your potion every hour or so. It's ridiculous." 

"Unless you're always thirsty," said Uther, scratching his cheek lazily. 

Richard leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Well, a boomslang skin is no use on its own. It has to be turned into something. Somebody around here is mixing up a pretty valuable potion." 

"Valuable?" said Bruce. 

"Sure," said Beth. "I was looking at some potions ingredients over the summer, and those things are _expensive_." 

Richard propped up his chin thoughtfully. "Unless you're Beth, you can't make a potion without a recipe." (Beth blushed.) "And you don't get recipes with boomslang in them very easily." He slammed his hand down on the table suddenly. "It's time to visit Pince." 

Madame Pince, the hawkish librarian, was shelving books when the S.S.A gathered around her. Upon seeing them, she left the unshelved ones on a cart and came over. 

"Doing some research, Mr. Shaw?" 

Richard nodded and flicked his eyes to the S.S.A ring on his finger. Madame Pince's face lit up and she led them to her desk. 

"What do you need?" she whispered excitedly. 

"Someone around here is mixing a potion on the sly," Richard whispered back. "Have there been any suspicious loans so far this year?" 

Madame Pince pursed her wrinkled lips. "Let me see." She turned around and came back with a box full of index cards listing book titles and who had borrowed them. She flipped through them, frowning a little. "Hmm, here's one ... no, that was legitimate, I read the essay myself ... a little unusual, but then so is the student ... here's one." She pulled out a card and laid it on the table. Richard picked it up while she went back to browsing them. 

Richard showed them the card. 

The Recipe for Success   
Borrowed: September 30   
Due Back: December 16   
Cedric Diggory 

The name at the bottom was signed in brown ink, and checked by Madame Pince's initials. 

"What's unusual about this?" Rich asked, his voice library-soft. 

"Dumbledore's restricted that one," she replied, not looking away from the box of cards. "Gives students ideas. There are some very dangerous spells in there, and it's easily misused. Mr. Diggory claimed to be researching famous wizards who have gotten ahead in shady ways." She held up another card. "Here's one." 

Moste Potente Potions   
Borrowed: November 5   
Due Back: January 14   
Hermione Granger

"Mr. Potter and the youngest Mr. Weasley were also there when she checked it out," Madame Pince said. "They all looked very nervous, as if I might not let it through. I almost didn't," she added. "Moste Potente Potions is not second-year material." She went back to leafing through the cards. 

"Those are the three that broke into the corridor last year!" Melissa whispered excitedly. "I wouldn't put it past them!" 

Madame Pince turned back to them. "Those are the only truly suspicious loans we've had. I can get you a copy of each of them, if you think it would help." 

"Sure!" said Beth eagerly. She had spoken too loudly; several students looked up at them in annoyance. She blushed furiously. 

"I'll be right back," Madame Pince promised. She left to round up the books. The S.S.A moved into a huddle. 

"I know it's Potter! That kid is no good!" Melissa prophesied. "Nobody knows how he defeated the Dark Lord both times. I'll bet he's a Dark Wizard himself!" 

"I wouldn't put it past Diggory either," Richard mused. "He's in my year. You should see him in class -- I can't believe he's not a Slytherin, he kills himself to get ahead. I think if he figured out how to open the Chamber of Secrets, he'd do it. And famous wizards -- Salazar Slytherin certainly counts." 

Before they could continue, Madame Pince returned with a pair of enormous, moldy books. "Take care of them," she warned. "I'm checking them out to myself. Keep them as long as you need, but don't get any ideas, Mr. Shaw. If I find out that you're actually using the recipes, I'll have you reported before you can say gloria serpens. There's no excuse for a student to make any of these potions." 

"Understood," said Richard with a grin. He took the books and handed them over to Beth, who bobbed a little under their weight. "Thanks a ton." 

Madame Pince smiled; it made her seem like a whole new person, and reminded Beth of how cheery and sociable she had been at the funeral. "Any time, Shaw. Good luck to you. Let me know if you need anything more." 

"We will," he promised, and they went back to the table. 

Moste Potente Potions turned out to be full of some of the grisliest potions Beth had ever seen. All of the worst ones seemed to have to do with changing something, like turning a person inside out, and boomslang was required for half of them. 

"This isn't going to work," said Uther, thoughtful for a change. "We've got to hunt those potions down. Mel, you're dating a Gryffindor, see if he knows anything about it." 

Melissa's face twisted. "_Used_ to date a Gryffindor, and good riddance." 

"Oh." Uther went back to the book. "Well -- let's let it go until the meeting. Bruce and I have practice anyway." 

Bruce groaned and put his head down on the table. "I always hope Marcus'll just forget one sometime." 

Uther put on his best Marcus Flint scowl. "If we skip just one practice, those stinkin' Gryffindors'll win," he growled, and the impression was uncannily good. "That cup's going to be ours if we have to poison the other team's water bottles." 

"And he would," Bruce said. 

Uther looked up at the clock. "We'd better get moving then, before he poisons _our_ water bottles." The two stood up. "See you at the meeting." 

"If," added Bruce, "Marcus ends practice before eleven." 

***

The Thursday night meeting came entirely too soon. Beth was amazed at how quickly the hours flew by these days. It seemed like she'd just start to bend over her homework, when she would have to leave it. The thought of how much work she had to do made her impatient whenever she was doing something else. She couldn't focus on the meeting -- the thought of how much alchemy she had to do clanged in her head like an alarm that wouldn't stop. 

Richard, on the other hand, looked like he couldn't be more pleased to be there. He was practically beaming as he started the meeting. 

"First -- it hasn't been announced to the public yet, but one of the professors is planning to start a dueling club, the first meeting is next week, and you had all better be there. This could be the most valuable thing you ever learn at Hogwarts. I want the S.S.A. to have the top eleven duelers in the school. Attendance is _mandatory_, do you understand?" 

"I can't make it," said Uther. 

"I'm going to chew your arm off," said Richard. 

The S.S.A. laughed. "When is it?" Herne asked, looking genuinely enthused. 

"Next Thursday at eight," Richard replied. "And there's nothing else scheduled for then, _ever_. Just in case you were wondering." 

"Is it going to be over by our meeting?" said Mervin skeptically. 

"Probably," Richard guessed. "They can't keep the firsties up past ten or so. It may take a little while longer for us to get here, if everyone's still awake and excited, but let's try to be here at the same time." 

"Weren't things great when the meetings kept getting cancelled?" Melissa muttered wistfully. Beth giggled. 

"Second, and this one is really important, the third-years came up with a theory today and need some detective work to prove it. Beth, want to go over what you found out?" 

"Uh -- all right." Beth stood up awkwardly. "Someone's stolen at least a boomslang skin from Snape's private ingredients. Madame Pince pointed out that Cedric Diggory and Hermione Granger both checked out restricted potions books in this semester, so it's likely to be one of them. The thing is, boomslang skin is used in transformations, so we thought -- well, we wondered -- if maybe the Heir of Slytherin is using a potion to Petrify people, and he needed some boomslang to do it." 

There were general murmurs of interest. "Did you get the books?" Vivian inquired. 

Beth nodded. "We don't know what they're using them for, though. We need to try and find the potions they're making, or at least find out what they're doing, in case it is one of them. So be on the lookout," she finished, and sat down, feeling like Richard. 

"You heard her," Richard said. "Can you keep the books in here, Beth? In case we get some time, we can look through them for recipes with boomslang in them, or anything about Petrification." 

"Sure. I'll bring them down tomorrow," Beth promised. 

"Anything else?" 

Vivian raised her hand. "Anyone else staying for Christmas break? It's a great time to do some snooping around. We could spend days looking for the Chamber of Secrets, or those potions. Hardly anyone's around, and Filch might be too full of eggnog to catch us." 

Beth raised her hand, though a little sadly. It was going to be her first Christmas away from her father; he had sent her a letter saying that he had business to take care of over Christmas, and that he would prefer if she stayed at Hogwarts. She wasn't the only one; Richard, Mervin and Uther were all staying over, as well as Vivian. She felt a little better. 

"Great!" said Vivian, beaming at Beth. "We can go excursioning -- just like last year, eh, Beth?" 

Beth grinned back. The year before, the three girls had gone on a reconnaissance mission to the forbidden third-floor corridor, and come face to face with a monstrous three-headed dog. 

"One more thing," said Richard. "Saturday's the Hogsmeade trip." There was a cheer. "Now I know it's a chance to have a day off, but it's also our only chance to get out of the bubble and into the real world. Look around! See if anyone knows anything about the Chamber." 

"Rich, it's a _holiday_," said Uther. 

"The Heir of Slytherin isn't taking a holiday," Rich said stubbornly. 

"Well then invite him along!" Uther said crossly. 

"Or _her_," snapped Melissa. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

[_Author's Note_] Information for AniMourner: Lycaeon (lie-KAY-on) was the name of a Greek king who was turned into a wolf by Zeus; the term "lycanthropy" actually comes from that myth. And sorry to disappoint, but he's not a werewolf; otherwise I suspect he would have been out of Azkaban in, say, a month. :-) 


	12. The Recipe for Success

**Chapter Twelve: The Recipe for Success**

The next two days passed like molasses. Every time Beth found herself sinking into despair, she thought, "Hogsmeade's coming up -- just hang on." Unfortunately that mostly just made her more depressed, so she took to holing up in the library with Alchemy and a pillow. 

Finally, finally, the day came. The whole school from the third year on up bolted down breakfast, put on their favorite outfits, and scrambled outside to where a long row of horseless carriages waited to take them to Hogsmeade Village. Beth, Melissa, Bruce, Aaron, and Mervin all crammed into a carriage and spent the trip hanging out of the window making faces at the other carriages. 

They pulled into Hogsmeade and piled out, swarming into the village. "Where to first?" said Melissa, flushed with excitement. 

"Christmas shopping," said Beth staunchly. 

They spent the whole morning looking for Christmas gifts. The boys got bored and wandered away, promising to meet them at the Three Broomsticks for lunch. They got back together again a little after noon, laden with packages. Beth and Melissa were particularly giddy. They had spent a long time debating whether or not to get Bruce a pair of boxer shorts with broomsticks on them; and after much deliberation, they were now tucked in the bottom of Melissa's shopping bag. 

The Three Broomsticks was warm and full of people they knew -- apparently everyone had decided to eat there at about the same time. Some of the Quidditch boys sat in one corner, giving dirty looks to the players from other houses. A whole group of people from Alchemy were sitting together, so Beth stopped to chat with them for a few minutes. There was a minor scuffle with the Weasley twins. Riggs was found in the very back of the pub, engaging in a debate about stocks and bonds with Ebeneezer Nott. Uther stopped by briefly; he had flattered Madame Rosmerta into giving him a plate of cookies for free, and he shared them around. 

The whole place was so bustling and so crowded that they ate and left quickly. 

The rest of the day was spent with no particular goal in mind. They checked out all of the usual places -- Zonko's, Honeydukes, the Shrieking Shack -- and found a few new places. There was a tiny pet store, with all kinds of magical pets; they had to practically drag Melissa away from the friendly, spaniel-like crups. Aaron had heard rumors about a sort of broomstick museum; it turned out to be little more than a secondhand store with good descriptions of its wares, but they killed a few hours reading about the old makes of broomsticks. 

Beth found an old Silver Arrow, the kind that her brother used to ride. Shaking off the sudden melancholy that dropped over her, she left without reading its description. 

Bruce and Melissa were staring up at a long line of portraits. Over them, a line of printing read _Generous Contributors to the Museum and to the Sport of Quidditch in General_. 

"That's my great-grandfather," said Melissa, pointing up at an intense-looking man with black hair. "He's been dead for years. And that's Kennilworthy Whisp -- I've met him -- he's a writer." 

"This one looks like you, Beth," cracked Bruce, pointing to a picture of a blonde man with a very pronounced chin. 

Beth swung a fist at him. "Har-dee-har har." 

"Beobub 'Bob' Parsimmer," Melissa read. "Of course, the Parsimmers -- very rich, they are. Very old wizarding family. They invested in Ollivanders, in fact, when it first started." Her face suddenly closed off, and Beth was startled to see a hint of real animosity in her gaze. "Come on, let's go do something else." 

Too soon it was time to head back to the coaches. They strolled down the road with their packages. Beth was preoccupied with thoughts of her father receiving his gift by mail instead of in person. The thought made her feel lonely, although she would be around more people than he would be on Christmas day. 

Melissa nudged Beth out of her reverie. 

"Look, there's Kettleburn!" 

Professor Kettleburn strode down the street in the opposite direction, clutching a burlap bag in one hand. The bag bumped out here and there, as if something inside was throwing itself against the sides. Melissa waved and ran up to him. 

"Hi, Professor!" 

Kettleburn didn't slow down. "Having a good time, Ollivander?" he barked. 

"Yes sir," Melissa affirmed, half panting to keep up. 

"What's in the bag? Is that for class?" Bruce interjected. 

An expression of distaste flitted across Kettleburn's craggy features. "Never too early to start Christmas shopping," he boomed, but his joviality sounded misplaced. "Sorry to disappoint, Bletchley, but it's not for you." 

"Really? What'd you get?" Bruce persisted. Beth thought to herself that this was a lot of words for Bruce to say to a professor at any given time, let alone in a social context. 

"Snitch. Golden Snitch for my nephew," said Kettleburn loudly. "He's going to be a Seeker. Only six years old though. Hadn't you better get back to the coaches, Bletchley?" 

Bruce almost fell behind the man's stride checking his pocket fob. "Guess so. Have a good day, Professor." The three stopped walking and let Kettleburn continue in his hurried path down the sidewalk. 

Melissa started to laugh. "Hadn't you better shut your fat gob, Bletchley?" she barked, in excellent mimicry. Beth joined in her laughter. 

Bruce, though, stayed silent until they turned to go back to where the horseless coaches sat in wait. "Something funny about that," he murmured. "Who'd sell a Snitch in a bag? They come boxed or caged." 

"Maybe it's secondhand," Beth offered lightly. 

"Might be," Bruce agreed, his head still bent in concentration. "But do you remember last year, when we heard him and Quirrell talking in the Shrieking Shack? And then Quirrell turned out to be, well you know -- isn't that suspicious?" 

Melissa waved her hand in good-natured impatience. "You're starting to sound like Richard." 

"That's good to hear," someone remarked from behind. It was Richard, beaming like he'd won a carnival prize. "What's the suspicion, Bruce?" 

Bruce briefly enumerated the previous scene. 

Richard looked thoughtful. "Worth knowing. Keep an eye out for anything else he does, will you?" He caught a glance of some of his classmates and hurried on past. 

"Bruce is getting in with the top dog," Melissa teased. "He's going to be president of the S.S.A. some day. Right, Brucey?" 

"No," said Bruce. "I'm going to be the Minister of Magic." 

"When he says it like that, I almost believe him," said Beth. 

***

The trip back to Hogwarts was long and cold; the thin walls of the horseless carriages did little to block out the December chill. When they finally arrived back at the school, the students broke off into their four houses and shuffled down the hallways in groups, huddled together for warmth against the chilly corridors. Beth was walking back with Bruce and Melissa when something caught her eye. She turned around. 

Cedric Diggory, instead of joining his friends, was heading down another corridor, all by himself. 

Beth nudged Melissa. "I'll see you in a few minutes. I'm going to follow Diggory." With no further warning, she took off in the same direction as Cedric Diggory had taken. 

He wound through the hallways casually, and Beth followed behind at a safe distance, ducking behind suits of armor and statues at every chance. He came to a doorway and knocked; it was opened and he went in. Beth slid up to the door and stood pressed to the wall outside of it, listening closely. 

"Professor Sprout, I have a question." 

"Yes, Cedric?" 

"I need to work on a potion for my Alchemy class. I was wondering if there was a classroom with a fireplace that I could use for the evening." 

_That's it_, Beth thought excitedly. _He's going to do it._

"Of course, Cedric." Professor Sprout's voice was warm. "Room three seventeen has a fireplace. If anyone bothers you, just let them know that you have my permission. Here, I'd better sign you a pass." 

Beth didn't stay to hear Cedric's thanks, or his receipt of the permission slip. She was bolting down the hall to room three seventeen. 

It was up two flights of stairs, but in her excitement she hardly noticed the climb. She was actually going to catch him in the act. If she could prove that he was the Heir, or that he was attacking students -- and surely her testimony was enough -- there would be accolades, special awards. She thought about how much praise the Potter kid had received after defeating -- well, withstanding at least, the Dark Lord the year before. Gryffindor had won the house cup thanks to him and his friends. This would win it back for Slytherin. 

She found room three seventeen and bolted inside. The dark classroom looked more like an old lounge; there were chairs and long tables, but a fireplace stood along the back and a broad window stretched across the far wall. Beth ducked behind a thick curtain, hoping fervently that he wouldn't want to open the curtains this late at night. 

Not a minute later, the sounds of a latch came to Beth's ears. Someone walked in ... lit the chandelier with low, blue flame ... set out glasses and containers ... started a fire ... and started shuffling ingredients. Beth's heartbeat slowed in relief. He was not going to worry about the curtains. 

A sizzling sound proved that Diggory's potion was warming over the fire. Beth ventured a look. Diggory had laid out his things on a table by the fire and stood bent over a large book now, intently reading. It was Recipe for Success. 

Diggory looked up and Beth drew back behind the curtain. He wouldn't notice such small movement in the dim lighting. She heard some clinking as, she presumed, ingredients were added and stirred. And something else. Diggory was talking to himself. 

Beth held her breath. Staying as still as she could, she could barely make out the disjointed muttering. 

"Just a Hufflepuff ... never any better than a Hufflepuff ... hah! Let them see this ... I'll have it all. Looks ... brains ... talent ... they'll _see_ what a Hufflepuff can be! By the time I graduate, no one will dare look down on us -- look down on _me_! No one!" 

The muttering trailed off, and the clink of glasses joined into the faint bubbling of the brew. Beth ventured a glance from behind the curtain. Diggory had dipped a beaker full of the sticky potion. It frothed in the glass; green pustules ran down the sides and onto his slim hands. The look in Diggory's eyes was fierce. He looked violent, ambitious -- he looked like a _Slytherin_. 

Diggory set the beaker down on the table. He tugged a dark hair from his head and dropped it into the glass, where it set up a fizzle and a fine mist. Then he reached into a back pocket and pulled out a long object. Beth thought at first that it was his wand -- but no, it glinted in the firelight, and tapered to a sharp point. _A dagger_, she thought in horror, just as Diggory sliced a deep gash in his thumb. 

There was a muffled cry of pain and Diggory bent over for a moment, gripping his hand tightly and breathing hard. He struggled to straighten. Standing over the table, he stretched out his hand and squeezed a stream of blood into the beaker. His thumb bled, unbound, as he grabbed up his wand and frantically stirred the whole concoction. He tossed the wand to one side, red slime clinging to one end. The potion bubbled ferociously for a minute. Then the beaker shook with the force of an explosion, and stood still. 

Diggory snatched up the beaker. "Glory," he panted, his wounded thumb streaking the glass with crimson. "Honor." He raised it to his parted lips. "_Power_." The shadows of the fire flickered around his fevered eyes. "_Vivo transcongus vicci_." He tilted back his head and drank down the potion diluted with his own blood. 

Beth jerked behind the curtain, her heart pounding in her throat. She heard a glass shatter, and the sick sound of gagging. But the retching changed -- morphed to coughing -- then _laughter_, full and eerie in the empty room -- 

It must have worked, Beth thought to herself, feeling faint. The laughing swelled around her, and abruptly shifted back to coughs, racking coughs. She peeked around the curtain. Diggory was doubled over as if he was retching up a lung, eyes screwed shut, sweat pouring down his face. He opened his mouth to cough again. 

A misty red skull billowed from his lips and hung in the air for a very few seconds before dissolving away. 

Whatever evil Diggory had been dislodging had finally gone. He sank to the floor, breathing raggedly, clutching his stomach. There he curled for many tense minutes, while Beth held her breath behind the curtain and prayed for him to leave. Finally, he slowly picked himself up and began to clean up. The potion went into the fire; it threw up a cloying stench that made Beth gag. There was the sound of clanging and clinking as all of the implements went into the now-empty cauldron. A few moments of rustling -- Beth assumed that a few simple Scouring charms were rendering the equipment as good as new. 

Several agonizing minutes later, the fire was quenched, there were footsteps, a door opening and closing, and Beth was left in silent blackness. 

She remained still, barely daring to breathe, for almost fifteen minutes. When she had gathered her nerve, she crept from behind the curtain, slipped silently out of the room, and sprinted back to the Slytherin common room. 

To her shock, quite a few students were still awake. The large clock over the mantlepiece showed that it was still only nine o'clock. 

Melissa, who had been reading by the fire, dropped her book and came up to Beth excitedly. "Did you see anything?" 

Beth motioned for her to come upstairs. In the quiet of the dormitory, she breathlessly described what she had seen and heard. Melissa was thunderstruck. 

"Diggory's never done _anything_ like this! Come to think of it, he's never done anything special at all except look good. Are you sure it was him?" 

"Positive," said Beth vehemently. "I _saw_ him." 

Melissa shook her head in wonder. "So do you think -- that the Heir of Slytherin could be -- a _Hufflepuff?_" 

They stared at each other. 


	13. The Parselmouth

**Chapter Thirteen: The Parselmouth**

Beth had a hard time looking at Diggory in the following week. She passed him several times in the hallways, had to sit behind him in Alchemy, and he was almost always visible at the Hufflepuff table at meals. Every time he passed, she would look away anxiously and think, _He's different than he was yesterday_. At dinnertime on Thursday she watched him from the Great Hall. 

_What have you done to yourself? What will it cost you?_

"Beth? Are you in there?" 

"Huh?" Beth sat up with a start. She realized she had been staring and ran a quick blush. Aaron Pucey nudged her, grinning, and tried again. 

"I said, are you going to the dueling club?" Aaron asked cheerily. 

Beth remembered Richard's vehement threats from the week before. "Yeah," she said, stifling a grin. "I wonder who's teaching it?" 

"Flitwick's a champion dueler," Melissa said in a very knowledgeable and utterly infuriating way, as she leaned across the table to butter a slice of bread. "It's bound to be him." 

"Snape's not bad himself, I hear," interjected Aaron. "If we're lucky it'll be him." 

Bruce grunted his agreement. "Anyone else'll try to keep us away from the other Houses. I'd like to try my hand against someone else for a change." 

"Like a Ravenclaw?" Melissa sniffed. She adopted a nasal, snobby voice. "'Excuse me, but according to my calculations the probability of my conquest in this duel is ninety-three point four five percent, so if you please, save us both the trouble and slither back to your snake-hole post-haste.'" She snorted and shook her head. "They're a bunch of know-it-all snobs." 

Beth wasn't about to remind Melissa that she acted like a know-it-all snob quite a bit of the time. Instead she let out a short laugh. "Snake-hole?" 

Melissa ducked her head sheepishly. "That's what Galen calls our common room. I guess all the other Houses say it." 

"That's right," came a humorless voice behind them. Riggs stood there, looking officious and irritable. "The snake-hole. One of the many injustices forced on us by the other three-fourths of the school." His face contorted a little -- maybe it was just a trick of the light. "But I'll tell you something. I've been getting a lot more respect from the other prefects since the Heir of Slytherin has been on the loose." 

They stared at him for a few seconds. Then Bruce let out a shaky laugh. "You sound a little uptight," he ventured, smiling tentatively. 

Riggs relaxed slightly and the fire went out of his gaze. "They've been on us hard in the last couple of weeks," he admitted, taking an empty seat. "The administration, I mean. If we lose another student, they're saying they'll hold the prefects responsible." 

Aaron let out a low whistle. "They wouldn't do _that_," said Beth, disbelievingly. 

Riggs laughed, a short and forced sound. "Watch and see." He stood back up. "I'm off to the snake-hole to watch over all the little reptiles until the dueling club meets tonight." He strode away. 

"See you there," Melissa called after him, but Riggs made no reply. 

***

Eight o'clock came quickly and with much anticipation. The Great Hall was filled with students of all years and houses, chattering eagerly. The Weasley twins circled each other, jabbing their wands like fencing foils. A stage had appeared at one side of the room, and all of the tables and chairs were gone, so the Great Hall looked a lot like a gymnasium (if you didn't look up at the enchanted ceiling). 

The fourth-year Slytherins all hung together. There was sure to be some pairing off, and despite what Bruce has said about trying his hand at other houses, they all wanted to be sure to get matched with each other. 

Melissa nudged Beth's arm. "Look, it _is_ Snape that's teaching us!" she exclaimed happily. "I knew it, he's going to be good -- oh no --" 

Gilderoy Lockhart was also on stage. 

Aaron let out a snort. "He'd better be up there as a demonstration dummy, that's the only way we'll learn anything from him." 

But Lockhart was waving his arm cheerfully, looking more like he was accepting an Academy Award than teaching a class. "Gather round, gather round!" he called, beaming at the throng. "Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent! Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club ..." 

"Little nothing, it's the whole school," Bruce muttered, but Beth elbowed him into silence. 

"... for full details, see my published works," Lockhart went on. "Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape. He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry -- you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!" 

"Ah, but will we have a D.A.D.A professor?" murmured Mervin reflectively. Professor Snape was wearing the kind of look that he usually reserved for Gryffindors and Peeves. He maintained his glare as he and Lockhart faced each other and gave the customary bow. The crown went silent with anticipation. 

"As you can see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," said Lockhart, obviously relishing the attention of the audience. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course. One -- two -- three --" 

They both raised their wands, but only Professor Snape got out a spell: his cry of "Expelliarmus!" sent Lockhart flying offstage and into a wall. The Slytherins cheered wildly. Lockhart staggered to his feet, hair disheveled, eyes wide and shell-shocked. 

"Well! There you have it!" he gasped out, struggling back to the stage. "That was a Disarming Charm -- as you see, I've lost my wand -- ah, thank you, Miss Brown -- yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy -- however, I felt that it would be instructive to let them see ..." 

"What a load of --" Aaron began sharply, but Beth decided he needed to be elbowed before he could finish. 

Astoundingly, Lockhart was still smiling. "Enough demonstrating!" He stepped into the crowd, and they all backed away a little. "I'm going to come amongst you and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me ..." 

Professor Lockhart wandered through the clusters of students, picking out couples with joyous abandon. When he reached Beth's group, he broke out into a wide grin. They drew closer together. 

"Aha, here we have the young Slytherins! Splendid, splendid. Here's a group of Gryffindors -- I'm sure you're willing to try your hands at each other! Best of luck now!" And he shuffled up the two clusters until Beth found herself across from one of the Weasley twins. Helplessly, she looked around for her friends. Aaron Pucey was faced off with the other Weasley, almost snarling with hatred at the Gryffindor's Beater. Melissa was paired off with Angelina Johnson, a girl one year older and at least a foot taller than Melissa herself. Bruce was nowhere in sight. 

Beth looked at the Weasley. He scowled back. 

Lockhart was back at the platform, proudly surveying his handiwork. "Face your partners and bow!" he called. 

The Weasley gave Beth a stiff bow. Not sure what else to do, she curtsied. 

"Watch for the ready! When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents -- only to disarm them -- we don't want any accidents -- one ... two ... three --" 

Beth raised her wand and cried, "Expelliarmus!" Across from her, the Weasley did the exact same thing. They must have cast their spells at the exact same time -- both were thrown backward, and the wands went flying out of sight. Beth landed on something soft, which turned out to be a second-year Hufflepuff; the Weasley went careening into his brother, who tripped and went sprawling onto Aaron Pucey. Aaron took it as a direct challenge and started battling the Weasley to the ground. 

There were screams and puffs of green smoke started appearing in random spots in the room. Beth saw Riggs groping around on the ground, blind without his spectacles. The Hufflepuff she had hit was apologizing effusively. In every corner there was chaos -- then Snape's voice came roaring over the sounds of war. 

"Finite Incantatem!" 

Gradually the room fell silent. Students and wands were lying everywhere. Aaron Pucey had to be pried off of the Weasley, which was doubly difficult since both of them were bleeding heavily. Melissa, sprawled on the ground, got to her knees and started collecting the wands. Beth crawled to her side and started to help. 

"Holly -- twelve and a half -- this is Cho Chang's --" Melissa muttered, as she picked up the wands. "Oak, eleven, looks like -- unicorn hair -- give this to Ernie Macmillan, would you," she said to Beth, handing over the wand. "Twelve inch rowan, dragon, that's you, Beth. Fourteen and a quarter, beech ... huh, that's funny, Bill Weasley graduated ... oh, I'll bet this is one of the twins' ..." 

Beth handed around the wands as Melissa picked them up. "Wow, you're good," she said, impressed. "That's going to come in handy." 

Astonishingly, Melissa gritted her teeth. "I doubt it," she hissed, and stood up. 

At the front of the room, Professor Lockhart was trying to collect the class again. He was leading Draco Malfoy and Potter into the center of the room. Everyone cleared a space for them. Lockhart was saying something to Harry, who looked terrified to be pitted against Malfoy -- at least, terrified that his adult assistant was Lockhart, who waved his wand elaborately before dropping it on the ground. "Whoops -- my wand is a little overexcited --" he declared. There were muffled snickers. 

Across from them, Snape was whispering to Malfoy, who smiled. "I'd kill to know what he was saying," said Melissa enviously. "Potter is so dead." 

Lockhart raised his hands like a wrestling referee. "Three -- two -- one -- go!" 

This time, only Malfoy managed a spell. He roared, "Serpensortia!" and an enormous black snake burst from his wand. It sat in front of Potter and poised to strike. Everyone circling the two backed off. 

Snape was wearing a cat's smile. "Don't move, Potter, I'll get rid of it ..." he murmured, with no intention of doing so quickly. 

Apparently it wasn't good enough for Lockhart, though, because he cried, "Allow me!" and shot something out of his wand that only succeeded in blasting the snake three yards in the direction of the Hufflepuffs. It made a beeline for the fat boy that Beth had landed on. 

Then -- incredibly -- Harry Potter turned toward the snake and uttered a stream of hissing and rasping like Beth had never heard. The snake continued toward the Hufflepuff for a few seconds before it dropped and turned back to Potter. Potter smiled at the snake and then grinned up at the Hufflepuff -- who shouted, "What do you think you're playing at?" 

The Hufflepuff and his friends stalked away. 

It wasn't long before Potter was also swept away by his friends. Lockhart vainly tried to recapture the attention of the masses. 

"Well -- excellent demonstration of what can go wrong if one doesn't follow directions ... eh ... let this be a lesson to you ... what shall we move on to now, Professor Snape? I don't suppose you'd care to show us all that little snake trick, would you?" 

"The club is over," snarled Snape, and he strode out. 

If Lockhart had any intention of continuing the lesson by himself, no one stayed to see it. There was a wild exodus for the doors, some to get away as soon as possible, others to follow Potter and see what he was up to, still more to follow Snape and beg him to teach them how to summon a snake. 

Bruce appeared at Beth's side, tapping his watch. "Eight thirty," he grinned. "Guess it did end in time for the meeting." 

So at eleven o'clock that night, the S.S.A. met again for their weekly gathering. The members who had come early were having a lively discussion about the Dueling Club and its abrupt end. 

"A Parselmouth! The lucky bum is a Parselmouth!" Mervin ranted. "What did Potter do to deserve that?" 

"And why didn't anyone find out about this last year?" asked Vivian. "We should have been watching him closer." 

"What a bad time to let the secret out," Richard mused. "Everyone's going to think he's the Heir of Slytherin." 

"Which is of course bunk," said Vivian, "because to be the Heir of Slytherin, one must necessarily _be_ a Slytherin." 

"What if the Sorting Hat didn't know about it?" Herne suggested, but Vivian waved him away. 

"The Sorting Hat is smarter than that," she argued. "If he was the Heir of Slytherin, I think he would have been made a Slytherin no matter what other traits he had. He's a Gryffindor for heaven's sake. A Gryffindor who happens to be the only Parselmouth in the school." 

Daedalus had joined them by then. "I'm a Parselmouth," he said, in a hurt voice. 

"It doesn't count if you have to turn into a snake to do it," she argued primly. She grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the divan beside her. "Not to downplay your accomplishments. No offense." 

"Of course." 

Richard looked around, assured that all of the members were present, (except Riggs, off on prefect duty) and clapped his hands to get their attention. "All right, we all know that Potter's a Parselmouth. Interesting, but we have other things to talk about. Has anybody tracked down those two potions that are brewing? Diggory and Granger?" 

Beth raised her hand. 

"I found Diggory's on Saturday. I think it's been finished. He turned the library book back in, too -- I asked Madame Pince." 

Richard looked like he had been handed the keys to the castle. "Did you get a sample? Or see what he put in it?" he asked eagerly. 

Beth shuddered. "I heard and saw the end of it, the incantation I mean. He mixed in a hair, and ..." she swallowed "... blood, and then said, 'Glory, honor, power, vivo something vicco.' Is that enough?" 

Vivian was already leafing through the Recipe for Success book. "Did he drink it, or rub it onto his skin?" she asked practically. 

"Drank it." 

"Well it's not that one then ... he didn't say anything about giving up his firstborn child, did he?" 

"Not that I heard." 

"It's the very end of this one, so you would've known ... how does 'vivo transcongus vicco' sound?" 

"That's it!" said Beth eagerly, coming up beside Vivian and peering over her shoulder. "There's the blood part. There's the hair -- I guess the 'glory, honor' and all that was just his own thing." 

Vivian let out a low whistle. "The Trancongus Brew. Look at all this potion promises. Beauty, intelligence, charisma, you name it, you can get it." 

"Who needs a potion like that?" grinned Uther satisfactorily, putting his hands behind his head. 

"Nobody, that's who," Daedalus said in a serious tone, bending over the spell book. "Look at this clause. 'User trades length of life for one filled with glory and power.' I can't believe he actually did it. He'll live to be maybe thirty and die rich, but so _young_." 

"He must value a few years of greatness more than a lifetime of mediocrity," said Evan, in his steady, impartial voice. 

There was a round of silence, and Beth realized with horror that each of the members was actually weighing the choice. 

Daedalus broke the silence. "Whatever Diggory's done, it's his choice. He's not the Heir of Slytherin. I don't think this potion has anything to do with the Chamber of Secrets. He's harmed no one but himself. Besides, there's no boomslang in this recipe, so it wasn't Diggory that robbed Snape." 

Evan spoke up again. "I could have told you that," he said, with a Cheshire-cat smile. "It was Potter and his band of merry outlaws. I found their potion." 

Richard looked at him with a combination of vexation and admiration. "Where, then? What was it?" 

"They've got it cooking over a toilet in a girl's bathroom," Evan announced coolly, self-assured smile flicking across his lips. "Apparently one that no one ever uses, thanks to the ghost that lives there. Very whiny." 

"Moaning Myrtle," sighed Melissa, nodding in recognition. "She's a terrible bore." 

"They have it all set up. They even keep their supplies in there," Evan yawned. "The best part is, they're so sure that it's a secret, they even left the spell book open to the page they need." 

"Really!" said Vivian eagerly. "Which potion?" 

In reply, Evan took up Moste Potente Potions and flipped through it casually. He found the page he wanted and spread the book open, laying it on the floor in front of him. The S.S.A crowded around to read it. 

The drawings were dire, but to Beth's trained eye the ingredients were worse. The potion included some genuinely dangerous elements, and at least three things that couldn't be found in the student supply cabinet. Daedalus noticed it too. "Looks like Snape got ripped off more than just a boomslang skin," he whistled. 

"'Polyjuice Potion,'" Mervin read. "'To make oneself become another, for divers ends and mischiefs.' They're going to turn themselves into someone else?" 

Richard stood back, arms crossed, deep in concentration. "That's not a Petrification potion," he mused, "no matter what else it is. They aren't using this against anyone." 

"Not yet," Beth added, looking over the recipe closely. "It has to be stewed for a whole month -- if they're still cooking it, it must not be done yet. If we had some, I'll bet we could tell how long it had been going." 

Evan reached into his pocket and coolly produced a stopped-up vial, half full of sticky green liquid. 

Richard looked at Evan as if he was holding a vial of gold. "Fantastic," he breathed. He took the potion and held it up to the light, eyeing it critically. Without warning, he thrust it into Beth's hands. "All right, Potions Mistress, do your stuff." 

Beth looked at the potion in her hands, startled. "Uh -- I can analyze it tomorrow afternoon," she offered. 

"Thanks," Richard beamed. Beth suddenly didn't feel as if she could look him in the eyes any longer, so she turned away with a blush. 

***

The next day after class, Beth took over a small room in the dungeons to analyze the Polyjuice potion and spent most of the afternoon bending over the vial, adding heat and ingredients and calculating furiously. That's where Melissa, Mervin and Bruce caught up with her, just as she was putting away the last of her equipment. 

"It's almost all in there," she said, loading up her cauldron. "They're almost the whole way through the recipe. It just needs to stew until about Christmas, and a few base ingredients need to be restocked, and of course at the end you add a bit of whoever you want to turn into --" 

Mervin looked repulsed. "Like hair and stuff?" 

"Toe lint," said Bruce. 

"Toe _nails_," said Mervin. 

"You are _disgusting_," said Melissa. 

They climbed up the stairs to get to the common room. Beth felt good about what she'd accomplished. Alchemy was actually coming in handy, she realized. It was a whole new way of concocting potions -- figuring it out, rather than by recipe or guess. She could really grow to like that kind of thing. 

Professor Sprout's voice boomed through the hallways. 

"All students return to your common rooms! Return to your common rooms immediately! There has been another attack!" 

The four of them joined the horde of Slytherins going back to the common room. All around them, students buzzed with whispered worries. Who was it? What if the Heir decided to kill someone? Was it one of us this time? Bruce wondered as much aloud. 

"Don't be ridiculous," Melissa sniffed, as they climbed into the common room. "It's the Heir of Slytherin. We're safer than anyone." 

"But what if it was an accident?" Bruce argued. They pushed through the crowd and staked out a corner. Riggs came in like a man aflame, whirling around frantically and trying to console, reassure, direct, and assist everyone all at the same time. He barely had time to comfort a pair of frightened first-year girls who stood nervously right at the entrance. 

"I don't know anything!" he cried over the noise. "They didn't tell me anything! I'm going out to see what I can do -- where's Daedalus Dellinger? I'm putting him in charge here!" He blustered out of the common room without realizing that Daedalus was nowhere in sight. 

A few minutes later, the door opened again, and Richard stepped through, clutching something tightly. 

"Where was he?" Mervin asked suspiciously. 

"I'll bet he went looking for the scene of the attack," Beth grinned. Her smile faded as Richard came over to their little group. His face was pale, and his eyes were wide. 

"We're meeting tonight," said Richard, in a very shaky tone, "about a matter of extreme importance." 

Only then did Beth see what he held in his hands. It was a long green snake with a brown streak down its back, and it had been Petrified stiff. 


	14. The Stone Serpent

**Chapter Fourteen: The Stone Serpent**

The Vase Room was chaos. The snake that was Daedalus lay Petrified on a little couch, curled slightly and looking like a plastic toy. Vivian couldn't take her eyes from him. Behind the Ledger, Riggs ran searches of every kind while the dusty pages flipped madly. Everyone else clustered together, arguing loudly about what had to be done next. 

Richard finally stormed in, clutching a scroll and wearing a harried look. He strode to the front of the room, bellowing, "Quiet down, time to think!" He turned to the group. "Chaps, we have a problem." 

Cacophony. 

He silenced them again with an impatient wave of his hand. "I know, I know, come on, shut up already! Here it is. If we take Dell to the infirmary, we have to tell everyone who he is, and he's exposed. Dell's unregistered. That's huge fines, loss of wizarding privileges, maybe even expulsion. If we don't," he went on loudly, over rising complaints, "he just sits here and everybody thinks he's missing, there's an unsuccessful search, his parents are called in and he's declared legally dead. One at a time!" He pointed to Vivian. "You speak." 

"We have to turn him in," she said quietly. "We can't leave him like this." 

"One at a time!" Richard repeated, and the clamor quieted down. He looked around suddenly. "Where's Herne?" 

"Filch caught him on the way down," Evan drawled coolly. 

Richard threw his hands in the air. "Of all things! At all times!" 

Riggs cleared his throat. "Mister President, Riggs," he said formally. 

"What?" Richard snapped, sounded frazzled. 

"We can't turn him in. He was unregistered for a reason. We have to find some way to cover for him." 

"Sure," sniggered Uther, "we can all take turns running around wearing a Daedalus mask." 

A light in Beth's head clicked on. "Wait!" she cried, over the mixed laughs and groans. "We could -- it might -- I mean that's not a bad idea!" 

"Beth's talking," Richard called, pointing at her. 

"The potion they're making in the bathroom," she said in a rush. "Potter and them. Polyjuice. We can use it to change ourselves into Daedalus, just for classes -- take turns, whoever can fit it into their schedules -- no one knows he's gone, and then we can change him back as soon as we figure out how!" 

As soon as she stopped speaking, Beth realized that the clamor had faded into complete silence. 

Melissa spoke up. "But it's not finished yet. Didn't you say it would be done on Christmas?" 

"Yeah." Beth thought hard. "I'll bet I could speed it up using my Alchemy text. We'll steal about half and make our own version. They'll think it just condensed overnight." 

Silence again. Beth suddenly noticed that Richard was giving her a very funny look. 

"We can cover for him until Monday morning. He has classes that day before we leave for break. Get the Polyjuice working by then and we'll do it. Otherwise --" he looked at Vivian "-- he's going to the infirmary." 

There was a very unsettled pause. 

"What do you need?" 

Beth cleared her throat. "Some of his hair. Lacewings. My Alchemy book. I'll have to go over the recipe. They've done the hard stuff for us. And someone has to help me steal the potion tonight." 

"I'll do it," said Bruce, at the same time that Mervin said, "Sure, I'll go along." 

Richard drew in his breath and let it out slowly. "All right then. Everyone's dismissed. Someone get Dell's comb -- Uther, you do that -- and bring in all the hair you can get off of it. Melissa, bring down the Alchemy book. Good luck, Beth." 

"Thanks." She was surprised to find her voice was shaking. She looked at Bruce and Mervin. "We need something to carry it in." 

Bruce looked around. "This'll do." He picked up a big, heavy-looking copper vase. 

The S.S.A filtered out of the vase room, and Beth, Bruce and Mervin set off down the darkened hall. 

The corridor was weirdly lit at night; the moon streamed through high, narrow windows and glinted off of the suits of armor lining the hall. Everything looked silver and gray. Mervin lit up his wand, adding a bluish tint to the floor and walls. They edged through the corridors, jumping at every creak and scuffle, until they reached the bathroom where the potion boiled. 

Mervin balked at the door. "But -- it's a _girl's_ lav." 

"Oh go on!" Beth hissed, giving him a shove. "It's not as if there are any girls in there!" 

But Bruce wouldn't follow. "You're wrong," he said, in a very quiet voice. All three of them stopped and held their breaths. Over the hollow squeaks and rustling of the empty castle, they could barely make out the sound of a girl, sobbing piteously from inside one of the stalls. 

Beth let out a sigh of relief and smiled at the boys, who looked bewildered at her reaction. "It's all right, it's just Moaning Myrtle. She won't tell on us." As if to prove it, she forged into the restroom whispering, "Hi, Myrtle!" 

The foggy form of a girl materialized through the door of the first stall. Her round face was a picture of misery, and large tears welled behind her thick, ghostly glasses. "What do you want?" she sniffed, as if Beth's greeting had been an insult. 

"We need some of that potion in the last stall," said Beth, as Bruce and Mervin poked their heads in the door. "You can keep a secret, can't you?" 

"Ooh, _can_ I!" said Myrtle, brightening instantly. "I haunted Olive Hornby for forty years without once telling her what actually killed me! Wouldn't give her the pleasure of hearing about my tragic demise!" The prospect of keeping a secret delighted her so much that she bobbed to the ceiling and back, beaming. 

"I knew we could trust you," Beth smiled flatteringly. "Myrtle's great, isn't she, guys?" 

Mervin and Bruce, who had edged inside but still looked uncomfortable, had to catch Beth's eye before agreeing vehemently that yeah, Myrtle was the best ghost they'd ever met at Hogwarts, they'd have to stop by again some time. The look on Myrtle's face was one of ecstasy. 

"Those little brats who are mixing it don't like me," she confided, almost gleefully. "Moping Myrtle, moaning Myrtle, you should hear what they say about me! Serves them right if their things are stolen. Nasty little Gryffindors." She swooped into the last stall; Beth, Bruce and Mervin followed, to find a cauldron simmering over a fire in the toilet seat. 

Myrtle watched gleefully as Beth dipped out a full half of the tub and moved it into Bruce's copper cauldron. "Isn't this going to screw up their potion?" Mervin hissed. 

"Not too much," said Beth, shaking her head. "There's not much left to do but let it cook. And if they add too many lacewings, it'll just wear off quicker, that's all. Besides," she added, "they're obviously up to no good. If it doesn't work, all the better." 

Absolutely overwhelming Moaning Myrtle with thanks, they hauled the cauldron with the Polyjuice back the Vase Room and plopped it on the floor in front of the divan where Daedalus lay, still and serpentine. "We've got to get this back onto a fire, right away," Beth said, looking critically at the cauldron. Mervin, who was good at Charms, lit a fire in one of the low vases and they hoisted the potion on top of it, where it started to bubble and fizz again. 

They stood around poking the green goo for a few minutes. 

"Dis_gust_ing," said Mervin, pulling out a long strand of what looked like snot. 

"Put that back!" Beth snapped. 

"There's a big old piece of skin in here somewhere," said Bruce hopefully, stirring it with a poker that he had found propped on the wall. 

"And a -- oh -- look at this," said Mervin. He unearthed a foot-long, faintly twitching tentacle. 

"Get _out_ of that!" Beth ordered. 

"I wonder what it tastes like," said Mervin gleefully. 

At that point Beth kicked them both out and ordered them to go to bed. 

With the boys gone, she finally had a chance to sit down and think. The Alchemy book had been brought down, and now Beth flipped through it idly. 

She had never been faced with a problem like this, either in class or otherwise. She didn't know what to start on first: how to speed up the brewing, how to add the extra lacewings before it was ready for them, calculating what the hurried preparation would do to its properties. It made her want to not start on anything at all. 

"Well," she sighed aloud, "it's going to be a long night anyway." She opened the Alchemy text to the index and looked up "time alterations". 

***

Late study nights are terrible, wonderful times. Beth started working full-force by midnight, at a steady pace. By one thirty she was churning through equations with a fervor that guaranteed incorrect answers. Around two, she slowed down to a grudging tenacity. By three she was talking to herself to keep moving. The quality of her work dropped off dramatically. She doodled, sang, and once or twice found herself staring at something for no good reason at all -- the armchair, or a picture on the wall. By three thirty she realized that she wasn't getting anything else done and she might as well go to bed. It took half an hour for her to clean up and set things in order for tomorrow. 

It was four o'clock in the morning before she closed the Alchemy text and dragged herself to the common room. Even Filch wasn't out prowling this late at night; she made it back easily. The fireplace was still going, but it flickered low; the common room was completely deserted. Half blind with exhaustion, she stumbled down the hall to her bedroom and got ready for bed with a kind of numb relentlessness. Part of her didn't want to sleep: There's so much work to be done, she thought frantically. The other part of her won out about three minutes later, and she dropped off into black and dreamless sleep. 


	15. Hours of Alchemy

**Chapter Fifteen: Hours of Alchemy**

Beth woke up with sunlight in her eyes. She blinked and looked at the clock: it was eight in the morning. With a start she remembered the potion that still simmered in the Vase Room, and how much work there was left to do. Struggling to keep her balance, she threw on her clothes and stumbled to the Great Hall, feeling like she'd had forty minutes of sleep instead of four hours. 

"Good morning!" Melissa looked cheerier than she had in weeks. Beth glared at her through her limp bangs. 

It wasn't enough. "Guess what?" 

Cursing people who wanted to converse before noon, Beth grunted, "Huh?" 

"Galen came over and talked to me this morning. He said everyone is just about convinced that Harry Potter is the Heir of Slytherin." 

Beth grunted again, not without interest, and poured herself some cold cereal. 

"Since that Hufflepuff pissed him off at the dueling club or whatever. So he doesn't think it was a Slytherin any more. So -- well, he said he missed me -- and --" 

Beth nearly choked on her corn flakes. "And you took him _back_?" she spluttered, spraying Melissa with half-chewed cereal. "After what he did to you? Sorry," she added, as Melissa picked cornflake pieces off of her face. 

"I believe him," Melissa said defensively. "And, you know, it was cute how he came scuttling back." 

"But he's a _bum_! He was ready to drop you just for being a Slytherin!" 

"He's seen the error of his ways," said Melissa stubbornly. She looked so happy and so starry-eyed that Beth held back any further comments, and said instead: 

"Do you think it _is_ Potter?" 

Melissa shook her head. "Not a chance. One, he's not one of us, I mean the Sorting Hat didn't think he was good enough for Slytherin, did it? Second, if it _was_ Potter, Draco Malfoy would have been hanging from that bracket, not Mrs. Norris." 

Richard slid into a seat beside them. His eyed were deeply shadowed; he obviously hadn't gotten any sleep either. "How's it going?" he whispered, in a voice very faintly laced with panic. 

Beth shook her head slowly. 

Richard's eyes grew wilder for just a moment. Then he took a deep breath. 

"I've got a backup plan," he whispered. "Vivian takes him in -- says she found him in the hall -- says she knows it's him, since he was trying to turn into an Animagus -- she says this must have been the first time he's managed it, and he didn't have enough time to register before he was Petrified ... How's that?" 

There was a pause. "Very suspicious," said Melissa. 

Richard looked deflated. "I thought so too." He turned to Beth. "You've got to get this working. And it's got to be done tonight." 

"Tonight!" she almost moaned, fighting back despair. "Why can't it be tomorrow?" 

"Because if it works, we have plenty more to set up," said Richard, sounding a little despairing himself. "We have to tell his parents that he's staying for break." 

Beth put her head down on the table and covered it with her arms. 

Immediately after breakfast, Beth forced herself to go down to the Vase Room, armed with a lot of paper, an enchanted abacus (by Prewlett-Hackard magicologies), and a jar of lacewings. There she mixed, stirred, and calculated feverishly by herself for the entire morning. 

Richard came down for a little while, but he was no help at all -- he fussed around and kept looking over her shoulder as if hoping for a breakthrough. 

"What's wrong with it now?" he asked for the fourteenth time, poking at the bubbling potion. 

"_It's not fully stewed_," said Beth through gritted teeth. "Richard, _go home_." 

It took several more minutes and some physical coercion before she actually got Richard out of the Vase Room, but he didn't look happy about it. 

Vivian visited around eleven. She was far more useful than Richard; in fact, having had five years of Arithmancy, she was able to help Beth run her calculations, and even caught more than one error. 

"Good heavens," she said, jabbing at the paper with a quill, "if you added that many lacewings you'd turn them into a kangaroo instead of a person." 

Beth looked over at the calculations and rubbed her eyes sleepily. "Huh, you're right. Five points from Slytherin." 

"If we get this wrong, Slytherin loses a lot more than five points," said Vivian testily. 

From then they worked in silence. 

By noon they had the calculations finished, checked, and double-checked. Beth and Vivian scrambled to lunch. 

"Where've you been all day, Beth?" Aaron Pucey asked cheerfully, munching a corned-beef sandwich. 

"Doing Alchemy," said Beth. It wasn't technically a lie. She grabbed a number of sandwiches, wrapped them in a napkin, and stuffed them into her pocket. Then she went back to the Vase Room. 

"I'm starting to hate this place," she sighed to herself, settling into her familiar seat. In truth, it was kind of growing on her. It might be a pretty good place to study full time, she decided, if she didn't have to sneak in and out. 

The calculations were finished; now, there was only basic Potions work to be done. She added lacewings every half hour, stirred unceasingly, and simultaneously managed to fight Richard away from the unfinished potion. Finally, at eight o'clock that night, Beth stepped away from the potion and announced that it had only three more hours to boil before it would be ready. 

Richard had a minor conniption. 

"Three hours! That's practically midnight." 

"That's eleven," said Beth. She was tired and grouchy from spending all day over a steaming cauldron. "Eleven seventeen, to be exact." 

"Why can't we run it now?" 

Beth gritted her teeth. "If you want to drink it and blow yourself up, fine. I'm taking a nap." She stumbled over to the low divan and stretched out. "Wake me up in three hours." She yawned. "Any earlier, and I'll kill you." She closed her eyes. 

Richard started shaking her shoulders. "Get up, Beth." 

She glared at him through squinted eyes. "Go away." 

"But it's time." 

"Huh?" 

"You've been asleep for three hours. It's eleven." 

Beth sat up. "That's impossible." 

"Nope." 

She wiped her eyes and stretched. Richard stood hovering over the cauldron, staring into the green swirls that were slowly darkening. The dark circles around his eyes were even more pronounced. 

"How much sleep have you gotten, Rich?" she asked cautiously, standing up. 

"Got three hours last night," said Richard thickly. He looked up at her, and his eyes were a little feverish. "I told everyone to show up between eleven fifteen and midnight. They'll be around soon." 

"Well, they have some time." Beth walked around a bit to wake herself up before taking a seat near the stewing cauldron. Richard came and sat beside her. 

They waited. 

"Can we run it yet?" 

Beth looked at her watch: it was ten after eleven. "Seven minutes." They sat and stared at the cauldron bubble. It was true what they said about watched pots never boiling, Beth thought tiredly. 

"How about now?" 

"Six minutes." It was also true what they said about too many cooks. 

They watched the potion stew. It was gradually changing color, from pea green to a thicker, soupier pine. 

"How about --" 

"_I'll tell you when it's time, Richard_." 

Vivian slipped in at a quarter after eleven. "Going well?" 

"Two minutes," said Beth. 

To her relief, Vivian nodded understandingly. "After all the concessions we've made, taking it off a second too early would ruin everything." 

Richard was practically vibrating in his chair. He jumped up and paced around a bit every few seconds, then sat down and jiggled his foot nervously. 

It was eleven eighteen. Beth waited for three minutes after that, just to be sure, before saying, "I think it's done." 

Richard leapt up and went to the cauldron. "Finally! Come on, let's try it out!" 

Vivian and Beth joined him. "I'll stir it, you grab a cup," ordered Vivian. She peeled a hairball from Daedalus's comb and dropped it in the potion, which fizzled and turned the mousy-brown color of his hair. Beth went and retrieved a dusty glass goblet from one of the shelves along the walls. 

The door slammed and they all turned to look. Mervin came in, looking harried. "Peeves was out," he said grudgingly. "How's it going down here?" 

Beth and Vivian exchanged looks. "It's just fine. Come in, you're the test run." 

"I'm what?" 

"Drink this." Beth dipped out a cup of Polyjuice and thrust it into Mervin's hands. 

He looked at it uncertainly. "Is this the --" 

"Yes, yes, lacewings, boomslang skin, and the lot of it. Drink up!" 

Mervin opened his mouth as if he was going to say something else, but Vivian was giving him a look that Snape would have quailed under. Instead, Mervin brought the cup to his lips and screwed his eyes closed before swallowing the awful-smelling brew. 

Beth held her breath. 

Mervin put down the cup and grabbed his middle with both arms. He hiccupped and a brownish bubble floated out of his mouth. 

"Come on ..." Vivian muttered tersely. 

Before their eyes, Mervin started to twist, as if something inside was fighting to get out ... he began to grow ... his hair shrank in on itself and darkened, and his face contorted before finally filling out into solid, handsome features. 

"Oh," said Vivian, putting a hand to her mouth. 

It was incredible. Daedalus Dellinger stood in the middle of the room, perfectly replicated in the person of Mervin. Other than the slightly bewildered look on his face, there wasn't a shred of difference between him and the real thing. 

"How do I look?" asked Mervin/Daedalus nervously, staring around at the room. 

"You look fine, but you sound ridiculous," Vivian said crisply. "Don't talk like that in class. In fact, better not talk to anyone unless I tell you to." 

Uther came in, tossing around a Quaffle. He took one look at Mervin and stopped dead. The Quaffle floated to the floor. 

"It's Mervin," said Vivian. 

"Smashing!" cried Uther. "Let me have a go!" 

In minutes there was a second Daedalus stomping around the Vase Room, this one in robes that were too long. "Ruddy _incredible_," Uther kept exclaiming. "I'm Dell!" 

"You," said Vivian, "are a pathetic facsimile." 

Uther looked hurt. 

Eventually the rest of the S.S.A. made it into the Vase Room. Herne and Bruce insisted on trying the potion, bringing their Daedalus total to four; Richard was content to sit and watch them walk around like a confused set of quadruplets. 

"Where's Riggs?" asked Beth, watching one of the Dells tread on the foot of another one. 

"Out patrolling," said Richard. He looked exhausted but greatly relieved. "The prefects and teachers are going to start roaming the halls at night, to make sure no one's out or to catch the Heir. Riggs put in to patrol this hall. He'll let us through for meetings." 

Melissa nodded. "After this, I wouldn't be surprised if they started guiding us through the halls. That's four victims that they know about." 

Beth let out a tired giggle suddenly. 

"What?" 

"That's odd," she said, as one of the Dells began to morph back into Mervin. "I just remembered that someone other than Daedalus was attacked." 

Vivian, meanwhile, meticulously drafted an owl to Mr. and Mrs. Dellinger in Daedalus's handwriting, explaining that he had decided to stay over Christmas break and claiming that the teachers had been notified. "Of course they haven't," Vivian snapped, when Herne asked if that was true. "The teachers will think he'll be getting on the Express. Good thing they never check very closely." To complete the illusion, she had Uther hunt down the gifts he had gotten for his parents, and sent them along with the letter. 

Richard was a nervous wreck. "D'you think it'll reach them in time?" he asked repeatedly, fidgeting worriedly, until Vivian swore that if he didn't knock it off she'd find the Heir and ask him to Petrify a certain S.S.A President. 


	16. Polyjuice Potion

**Chapter Sixteen: Polyjuice Potion**

Richard's fears were allayed the following morning when an owl arrived from the Dellingers. Vivian, recognizing Daedalus' family owl, snatched it out of the air and practically wrestled the letter out of its talons. "Send Dell's letters to me from now on," she ordered the astounded owl, who flapped away, terrified, as soon as she released it. 

"Well?" Richard breathed. 

Vivian broke into a tentative smile. "They wish him a happy Christmas and say that they understand. Rich, we might actually get away with this!" She threw her arms around his neck, and Richard, blushing through a rather confused smile, awkwardly hugged her back. Beth looked away. 

Uther had practically begged for the chance to play Daedalus for the first day. At breakfast he let out a story that he was feeling ill, so that he could skip all his own classes to go to Dell's. Beth and Vivian caught him on the way out of the Great Hall. 

"Fifty minutes," Beth said, pressing a canteen full of Polyjuice into his hand. "You have to drink it every fifty minutes. Better make it forty-five, to be safe." 

"Here's his schedule," said Vivian. "I can't be with you all day." She looked tired and drawn. 

Uther grinned disarmingly. "You won't even be able to tell the difference." 

"You'd better hope not," said Vivian severely. 

Then the bell rang to start classes. Uther took off down the hall and ducked into a boy's bathroom. Beth and Vivian stayed around just long enough to see that it was Daedalus who came out; then, giving each other a worried look, they dispersed to class. 

Beth and the others had Transfiguration with McGonagall. 

"This," said Bruce, "is the last place I want to be right now." 

Beth grunted her agreement. 

Professor McGonagall started in on the lecture, but it was hard to concentrate. 

Beth stared out the window. Somewhere in this building, Uther was doing his best Daedalus impression. Could it possibly be working? 

The whole lecture was starting to sound like one long drone. Beth's eyelids started to fall, and it was hard to keep her eyes focused. Surely Professor McGonagall wouldn't mind if she laid her head down just for a second ... she could take notes sideways ... with her eyes closed ... 

"Would you care to rejoin us, Miss Parson?" 

Beth jerked in her chair and struggled to sit up. Professor McGonagall loomed over her, arms folded, an unamused expression on her thin face. 

"Sorry ..." Beth mumbled, still not clear-headed. "I was paying attention ..." 

"Really?" McGonagall's eyebrows went up. "Then perhaps you'd care to remind us all what was just being said?" 

Completely ashamed, Beth kept her head down and said nothing. 

McGonagall nodded as if all of her suspicions had been confirmed. "Ordinarily, I would issue a detention for this sort of behavior. However ... since your break begins this afternoon ..." Beth looked up at her, hoping beyond hope. "I shall let your transgression slide. For now," she finished severely. 

McGonagall went back to the front of the class. "I was describing what you will need to know for the Transfiguration aspect of your O.W.L.s, a mere eighteen months away. I need not remind you that the O.W.L.s are rigorous and can affect your future greatly. They are almost as important as staying awake in class," she added, and Beth flushed brilliantly while the class laughed. 

Beth tried hard to pay attention as McGonagall talked about the various sections of the test, how it would be graded, and what you were allowed to use on it (wands were legal, but magic mirrors forbidden). Her brain kept slipping off, though, and when the bell finally rang to change classes, she looked down at her notes and realized they were barely legible. 

Her next two classes were no better, although she had woken up enough to take down notes coherently. Whether or not she knew what they had said was a different story. After they were finally over, she bolted to the Great Hall. 

The S.S.A. didn't usually eat together, but there they were, a mass of anxious faces and worried looks. Not a single one was even touching their food. Beth joined them anxiously. 

"Is he back yet?" 

Wordlessly, Richard shook his head no. 

From the doorway, Uther Montague sauntered into the Great Hall. He ruffled Draco's hair, patted Marcus Flint on the shoulder, and plopped down in his seat between Vivian and Richard. He put his feet up on the table. 

Richard swallowed hard. "How -- how did it go?" 

Uther grabbed an apple from a bowl on the table and took a big bite. He considered the question as he chewed. Then he swallowed, raised his eyebrow, and said, "Without a hitch." 

From the wild whooping and cheers, everyone else in the Hall figured someone was really excited about Christmas break. 

They sat around at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall for a long time after everyone else had cleared out to the Hogsmeade Station. The Hall was eerily silent. Even the students who would be staying for Christmas break had gone back to their common rooms. All in all, there would be fewer than thirty of them. 

Vivian let out a sigh suddenly and lay her head in her arms. "I can't believe we got away with it." 

"Got away with what?" someone drawled curiously. 

She looked up in annoyance. Draco Malfoy and his two thuggish friends had joined their group. Beth threw an exasperated look at Richard, who shrugged tiredly. 

"Got away with that last Potions test," Vivian lied. 

Draco, sensing her irritation, nodded sympathetically. "Potions is a beast. Good thing Snape likes us, eh?" He turned to Beth suddenly. "That reminds me. I've been needing some help on this swelling solution we're working on. They told me to come ask you." 

Beth gaped at him. "I'm not doing any more potions until after Christmas," she said emphatically. "Not a _drop_." 

A kind of confused sneer came over Draco's face, as if he was astounded to be refused something but not sure what to do about it. He eventually must have decided to be casual. "All right then, I guess you'll see me December 26th," he said, forcing a little laugh. "Mother wanted me home over break, but I wanted to get some work done." 

Vivian snorted. "No one ever gets work done over break," she said. 

Uther laughed lightly. "Right, it's one of the great myths of this place. Say, Draco, since we're both here, want to challenge the Ravenclaws to a scrimmage match later this week? Those two can play Beater." He pointed to Crabbe and Goyle. "I'll bet we can scrounge up a couple more Catchers and a Keeper. What do you say?" 

Draco's face lit up. "We're up for it any time you are!" 

"Sounds great. Run back to the common room and see if anyone's game, will you?" 

And astoundingly, the arrogant boy did just that. 

"They're so malleable when they're twelve," said Uther. 

Vivian smiled for what must have been the first time since Friday. "Montague Pest Control. Good work, Uther. Maybe with him out of the way, we can get some real work done." 

Uther smirked at the ceiling. "Nobody ever gets work done over break." 

"Usually it's not exactly as important," said Vivian. 

They spent the afternoon in the common room, drawing up a schedule that said when everyone could play the part of Daedalus. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were covered by Richard, Evan, and Herne at different times; Uther, Mervin and Bruce could pose as him Tuesdays and Thursdays, with Riggs -- who as prefect already had enough on his plate -- as an alternate. Richard had decreed that the girls only had to fill in if it was an emergency. "After all," he reasoned, "it's weird enough to turn into someone else -- let alone another _gender_." 

Vivian spent a lot of time with the boys over Christmas break, demonstrating Daedalus' habits and describing his personality. She also insisted that they read over his class notes. "It's one thing to not raise your hand in class, but you're bound to get called on," she warned. "Dell's no idiot, especially in Transfiguration. You'd just better hope McGonagall doesn't ask him to demonstrate anything." 

Mervin, who was scheduled to play Daedalus for Transfiguration, looked terrified. 

Even Christmas Dinner wasn't as merry as Beth had hoped. The thought of Daedalus lying on the sofa in the Vase Room hung over them all. Luckily, the others who had stayed were merry enough to cover for everyone else. A handful of upperclassmen were also at Hogwarts for break, as well as Draco, his two buddies, and Blaise Zabini. Beth paid a lot of attention to Blaise during the feast; shadowing her was likely to be the only thing she accomplished in these few weeks. 

After the Christmas tea, they carried their presents back to the common room and sat around the fire. Vivian went off by herself, presumably to study for the N.E.W.T.s., but Beth didn't think she looked like she ought to be studying anything but her pillow. The common room was empty enough that there was space in front of the fire, so Beth and Richard grabbed a pair of chairs and dragged them over. Blaise Zabini joined them. She looked a little down, so Beth said so. 

"No," Blaise sighed. "I'm fine. Wish I was home, that's all." 

"Where's home?" Beth asked politely. 

"Stratford-on-Avon. My house'll be covered with lights -- Mum's got these strings of glowing acorns, hangs them all around -- and we'll have had an enormous goose, walnut trimmings." She smiled wanly. 

Beth laughed. "My dad's going to be cooking for himself this year. That means baked beans out of a can and maybe toast, if he can find the toaster." 

Blaise looked curious. "A toaster? Your dad's a Muggle then?" 

"Yeah," Beth admitted. 

It was Rich's turn to look curious. "I didn't know that," he said, with some surprise. 

Beth grinned apologetically. "Well -- things being what they are -- I don't exactly let it get around." 

The door to the common room opened and Draco Malfoy came in, Crabbe and Goyle close behind him. The two boys were gazing around with their mouths open, looking, if possible, more clueless than usual. 

Beth stifled a giggle. "They look like they've never seen the common room before." 

Blaise didn't bother to hide her laugh. "They haven't been in here for a few hours; they'll have forgotten what it looks like by now." 

Richard watched them as they went back to the boys' dormitory. "Vincent's not as dense as he looks, right, Blaise?" 

"Not really." Blaise shook her head. "I mean he's thick all right, easy to make fun of. But he comes from a good family, and really, his grades are all right. He's not going to fail out. Besides -- he's a Slytherin. That means he has some kind of ambition, doesn't it? He wouldn't let himself amount to nothing." 

Richard thought about it, then nodded. "I've been trying to figure out what that secret ambition is all year -- sort of a hobby of mine," he added hastily, at Blaise's curious look. 

"Maybe it's to set a record in the hundred-meter dash," said Beth, as Crabbe and Goyle came barreling out of the boys' side of the dorm and crashed through the common room, only to charge out the door. They looked panicked -- no, they looked more than that, they looked _different_. 

"Odd," said Blaise with a smile. "Just then, Greg looked a little like Potter." 

Richard's mouth dropped open. "Yeah," he said, in a strangled sort of voice. "Odd." He gave Beth a very meaningful look. "Say, Beth, there was that thing I wanted to show you -- don't mind if we dash out for a moment, do you, Blaise? We'll be back in a jiff." 

"Uh -- not at all," said Blaise, a little startled. "See you later then." 

Richard got up and practically pulled Beth to her feet. "See you," Beth managed to blurt, before Richard had grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the common room. 

"What's that all about?" she demanded as soon as they were in the hall, wrenching herself free from his grip. 

"Goyle looked like Potter? I know it's been hard to remember -- you've been busy and all -- but _Potter's got Polyjuice potion too!_ And I'd bet my wand that's what they were just up to. Come on, let's see if we can catch them and confirm it." 

He led her through the corridors to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The halls were eerily empty, deprived of the bustling students and anxious teachers that usually crammed together in a thick, slow-moving mob. "Hush," he said suddenly, and flattened against a wall. There was the sound of footsteps and talking, growing fainter. Beth peeked around the corner and was just able to see two boys leading away a girl between them. 

"Potter, Granger, and Weasley," she said. "But what's Granger got on her head?" 

Richard was already hurrying around the corner. Beth followed him into the bathroom. The Polyjuice bubbled over the last toilet, and three soiled goblets proved that it had definitely been used, and recently, too. There was also a strange sound: giggles. 

"Myrtle?" Beth called warily. "Is that you?" 

Moaning Myrtle swooped into sight, but far from her usual weepy demeanor, she was grinning from ear to ear. "It's terrible," she said, in a voice full of delight. "The Gryffindor girl. She's got -- she's got -- whiskers!" 

"Whiskers?" 

"And a tail!" Myrtle broke into ghostly laughter. "Half turned herself into a cat! Ooh, when the rest of the students find out!" 

"Don't tell anyone," ordered Beth. "They'll find out that she had this potion, and we don't want it known that the stuff's even in the castle." 

Myrtle's face fell. "Can I tell the other ghosts, then?" 

"Oh, fine," said Beth, waving her hand. "Just don't tell _how_ she managed to do it." 

And somehow, it worked. The story about Granger's mishap got around, all right -- when everyone started coming back for break, they were instantly regaled with the story of how the know-it-all second year had grown herself cat ears -- but no one seemed to know how exactly she had done it. To Beth's great relief, no one seemed to care. 

"There are a hundred ways she could have done it," Rich said reassuringly, on the way back to the common room. "Botched transformation, maybe, or tried some kind of switch-a-roo that went off badly. Could have been pranked with a candy from Zonko's for all anyone knows. The important part," he said, and here he covered a grin, "is that the whole school knows she's got black hair all over her face." 

The day after Christmas, Beth woke to a case of the winter blues. Christmas itself had been all right; there was enough going on to keep her from missing her father too much. Now, the excitement and bustle had died down, and homesickness settled in. She picked around her food at lunch and couldn't bring herself to do much that afternoon. She sat in an armchair by the fire, staring into the leaping flames. 

"All right, Beth?" 

Beth looked up. Riggs was there, and he looked more concerned than she had ever seen him. She sighed. 

"I'm fine. I just miss my dad, I guess. It's my first Christmas without him." She tried not to sound lonely, but that made her feel worse. 

Riggs smiled comfortingly, and Beth suddenly saw why he'd been made a prefect. "You're not the only one," he said, in a voice that was somehow less fussy than usual. "Want to see the mirror?" 

"Mirror?" 

"Magic mirror. It'll show you anybody you want to see. We keep it for the firsties who get homesick." Riggs stood up. "Come on, I'll show you where it is." 

Beth followed him out of the common room and down the hall. Riggs stopped in front of a big potted plant and snapped, "Key lime pie." The plant rustled; its leaves bent to one side, revealing a small doorway. Riggs bent down and opened it, motioning for Beth to follow him, and they went inside. 

The room behind the potted plant was round and low, with a lot of cozy cushions and long, overstuffed sofas. Penny Clearwater, the Ravenclaw prefect, was sitting on one of them, talking to the oldest Weasley. They broke off their conversation as Riggs and Beth came in and sat there silently, shooting hard looks at the Slytherins suddenly in their midst. 

Riggs stiffened. "Back this way," he said crisply, sounding more like his usual stuffy self. 

"Where is this?" asked Beth, as Riggs led her around the room and into one corner. 

"Prefect's lounge. Don't give out the password, the others will hang me." He looked bitter. "I'm surprised they even let the Slytherin prefect have the password. Can't trust the snakes, you know." 

"Uh -- where's the mirror?" Beth asked, mostly because she was alarmed at Riggs's malevolent tone. 

Riggs shook his head, as if he were shaking off a bad mood. "Right here on the wall," he said, gesturing to the stones behind them. He sounded normal again. "Just say the name. If you get somebody wrong, say it again with an address or something attached. It's not very smart. Doesn't even carry sound." 

The magic mirror was about two feet high and oval, with an unremarkable wooden frame. Beth stood in front of it uncertainly. "William Parson," she stammered, feeling a little silly at talking to a piece of glass. 

But the mirror didn't seem to think it was silly at all; in fact, the glass began to fog up into a milky swirl. It whirled around and around, and just as Beth thought she was going to be sick from looking at it, the whirling slowed and the fog cleared up until the picture was clear again. 

Instead of her own image, Beth saw her kitchen, with her father sitting at one end, hunched over a plate of food. He wasn't eating; his lips were moving, but there was no sound, so she had no idea what he could be saying, or why. 

"Who's he talking to?" she asked impatiently, to herself, and remarkably the mirror panned out so that she could see the whole kitchen table now, and a man at the other end. This man was younger than her father, still no younger than fifty or sixty years old, but hale and healthy, with a thick build and thinning blonde hair. He looked vaguely familiar. 

"That's really odd," said Beth quietly. "He never has visitors." She looked closer at the two of them. Whatever they were discussing, it must have been serious; they wore very similar expressions, but it was hard to interpret what they meant. Now the stranger was talking, nodding his head reluctantly, looking up at Mr. Parson every once in a while. 

The silent conversation went on for several minutes while Beth watched, enthralled. Soon both men in the mirror stood up and shook hands over the table; then, with hardly a glance back, the stranger left and Mr. Parson started to collect the empty dishes. 

"Done?" 

Beth jumped. She'd forgotten that Riggs was standing right behind her. She turned around. "Yeah -- yeah, I'm done. Thanks. That ... helps." 

Riggs smiled a little bit, something he did rarely these days. "That's what it's here for. Have a good day." 

"You too." Beth turned to wave as she left the prefects' lounge. Riggs didn't wave back; he was glaring at Penny Clearwater and the Weasley, who had resumed conversation as if he wasn't even there. 

It wasn't long before Christmas break was over and the students started coming back. Melissa didn't show up that evening (Beth guessed that she had gone off with Galen), so she spent the night reading. The book was about a young boy who had an invisibility cloak, a magic map, and a friend who was a small creature with large ears who spoke in a high-pitched voice with bad grammar. The book was Goblins in the Castle by Bruce Coville. 

_Tomorrow_, she thought, is when the fun really _begins_. Tomorrow they would start using the Polyjuice on a regular basis, and Daedalus -- at least some form of him -- would come back to Hogwarts. 


	17. Days of Deception

**Chapter Seventeen: Days of Deception**

Beth woke up wide-eyed and sweating. _I've got to go work on that potion_, she thought desperately, until it occurred to her that the potion was finished and all that remained was to put the plan in action that very morning, the first day back to class. The thought didn't comfort her much. 

Melissa had come back some time that night, so while they were getting ready for class Beth told her about the man she had seen with her father. Melissa wasn't concerned. 

"He said he had business, and that must have been it. You just caught him at the right time, that's all. How's everything with Dell?" 

"Fine, I guess." Beth told her about how they had prepared over break. She got to the part about the schedule. 

"What do you mean only the boys get to turn into Daedalus?" 

Beth winced as Melissa glared at her. "Well -- that's what Rich said --" 

"Oh, it was _Rich?_ He doesn't think we're good enough to mess with his precious Polyjuice? Or maybe he doesn't trust us to keep the secret?" She started throwing her books into her backpack and went on, livid. "I think he just doesn't _appreciate_ that we have as much to offer as any of them. Won't accept our worth. _That_ must be it." 

She stormed down to breakfast, with Beth, resigned, in her wake. 

Breakfast did nothing to improve her mood. Aaron mentioned seeing a Quidditch game with his brother and father over Christmas, and Melissa tore into him, demanding to know why they hadn't taken his mother along, until he was forced to move down the table to sit with the team. Bruce took a lesson from him and didn't say anything at all. 

Mervin came up. He was wearing a flask at his hip, and had a big bag with him. 

"Clothes," he explained. "Dell was twice my size. This is never going to work." 

"It's got to," Beth said, but Melissa broke in: 

"Oh, it's you first, is it? Aren't you unlucky, to be a poor besieged _male?_ Break a leg," she added viciously, and stormed off to class. Mervin stared after her, bewildered. 

"She is the weirdest person I know," he said fervently. 

"Lay off her," said Beth sharply. "Anyway she's not the one with the canteen." 

"It's the you-know-what," said Mervin, pained, "and Rich is making us all wear it. I don't want to go out like this." 

Which is why Bruce practically had to frog-march him into the boys' bathroom to make the switch. Beth hung around outside nervously; sure enough, Mervin had gone in but Daedalus came back out. 

"Good luck... Dell," she said, as he started down the hall to Transfiguration. 

He turned around; Beth had never seen that kind of nervousness on Daedalus's face. "Whatever you say," he replied mournfully. 

Beth couldn't concentrate on Arithmancy. She kept having visions of Daedalus sitting in class, suddenly shimmering and fading into Mervin, while Professor McGonagall glared at him over her granny glasses. Afterward she bolted to Defense Against the Dark Arts and sat with Bruce and Melissa, anxiously awaiting his results. 

"What if he got caught?" Bruce worried. "Or it faded out in the hall -- or if the timing was just a little off -- someone stops to talk to him --" 

Melissa didn't look worried. Beth guessed that making up with Galen was going to be the high point of her month -- either that or she was still mad over the discrimination. "He'll be fine. Mervin's a strong boy." 

Just then, Mervin came into class looking hollow-eyed and dazed. He slid into his seat beside Beth. One of his eyelids was twitching a little. 

Beth gave Melissa a nervous glance before asking carefully, "How did it go?" 

Mervin let out a howl and threw himself onto the desk. "I can't do it," he moaned. "I got called on twice and I didn't know anything -- I _hate_ Transfiguration -- and we have to wear around that flask of Polyjuice, you know, so the Gryffindors thought it would be funny to start calling me Canteen Boy!" He covered his head with his hands. "Uther's taking his turn now. I don't care how we do it, we've got to get him changed back. I'm going to go barmy." 

Beth patted his arm in consolation. "Of course not." 

"Yeah, you're already barmy," said Bruce. 

Mervin gave him a very dirty look. 

***

They met that Thursday, although nobody really wanted to. 

It felt strange to be gathered in the Vase Room without Daedalus stretched out near Vivian's divan. He had, in fact, after much argument, been set on a shelf beside the big silver trophy that they had won last year. The snake wouldn't stand up on its own, so they had to prop him up against a glass beaker. 

"The teachers ... seem to be fooled," Vivian said slowly, when Richard asked how the great Daedalus impersonation was going. "I mean, the Polyjuice is great, looks and sounds perfect ... but there are little things, you know ..." 

"Like what?" asked Melissa. 

"Like the fact that Dell's an Animagus, and I can't even make a frog out of a cabbage," Mervin said glumly. 

"Or that he's in his fourth year of Ancient Runes," added Herne. 

"Or," said Uther, "the fact that none of his roommates have seen him get up _or_ go to bed since the last attack." He was fiddling with a Quaffle and looking worried. "They're starting to be suspicious." 

Richard sighed. "It's not going to be perfect. We just have to hold his place until we can figure out how to change him back. Keep your eyes open, by the way, for some kind of restorative. Other than the usual, any new business?" 

"Roosters," said Evan. 

"What?" 

"I said, roosters." 

Richard stared at him in exasperation. "What about roosters?" 

"Someone's been killing Hagrid's roosters. He's lost three already this year. The thing is, every killing has been right before an attack." 

A muscle worked in Richard's cheek. 

"How ... how long have you known this?" 

Evan gazed back at him coolly. "Since before break. Another rooster was strangled the night before the ghost and the Hufflepuff were Petrified. Then Daedalus got hit, and things were too crazy for me to mention it." 

"How did you find out?" asked Richard, through gritted teeth. 

"Saw it," Evan replied carelessly. "Thursday before break. Thought I'd do a little prowling around after the meeting. I looked out a window in the Owlery and saw two people down by Hagrid's chicken coop. Next day Hagrid was carrying the carcass of a rooster around." 

"Who were they?" Richard practically choked out. 

"Couldn't tell," Evan shrugged. 

"_You saw the Heir and didn't get close enough to see who it was?_" 

"Nope." 

Richard closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He looked much more collected when he opened them again. "All right," he said slowly, "Evan thinks the roosters have something to do with the attacks. Who knows anything about roosters?" 

No one replied. 

"Then it's back to the books. Pince can give us some good bestiaries and things. Let's all report back next week." 

Uther stifled a snort. "I say, Rich, researching chickens? That's a little -- ignoble, isn't it?" 

"Nothing's ignoble when it's done in the name of Slytherin," Richard said stoutly. "Rothbard would have said the same." 

So, thought Beth, would Tom Riddle. 


	18. Poultry and Love

**Chapter Eighteen: Poultry and Love**

Researching chickens, as per Richard's orders, gave them something to think about besides schoolwork and covering for Daedalus. By now the schedule was going smoothly, and everyone but Vivian had stopped worrying. The fourth-years took a day off of studying to cozy up in the library and search for information about chickens, hens, pullets, and all manner of fowl. 

"'Lions are afraid of chickens'," read Beth. 

"No way." 

"Really, it's in this bestiary." 

Bruce leaned over to read it. "This is from eight hundred years ago!" 

Beth shrugged. "Chickens never change." 

"'The rooster is a symbol of virility and' -- never mind," said Melissa, flushing. 

Bruce had a thin book on medieval wizardry. "You can hatch a cockatrice from a rooster's egg, if you put it under a toad," he said, thumbing through one page. "Wonder if that has anything to do with it." 

Melissa tossed her hair. "Don't be silly, Bruce, anyone trying to get a cockatrice would have to keep the roosters alive to get an egg out of them." She had broken up with Galen a week before because she couldn't stand the way he chewed his food any longer (or something equally trite, Beth hadn't paid much attention to her rant) and it left her edgy. 

"This is a neat section. 'Spiders are the enemy of the cockatrice. The cry of its father/mother is fatal to it --" 

"Would you get off the reptiles already? We're researching poultry here." 

Pouting, Bruce flipped further back in the book and started reading up on peacocks. 

They reported their findings at the S.S.A meeting the next week. 

Uther had read the Canterbury Tales. "There's this great story," he said breathlessly, "about this rooster, he has this nightmare about this fox, right, and his wife is like, 'You just had a bad dream, go take a laxative.' But it turns out he got chased by this fox anyway, so the dream was like a premonition." 

"Weird," said Bruce. 

"Totally," said Uther. 

Vivian had not read anything. She looked strained. "I've been keeping up on Dell's homework for him," she said, "and I even bewitched some of his quills to stay in his handwriting. They're in his backpack. I don't know what's going to happen if we have a test." 

"You're doing great," said Richard, patting her arm comfortingly. Vivian stared past him to the frozen snake on the shelf. 

None of their research turned up anything that answered why it would be useful to kill a rooster. "Maybe it doesn't have any significance," sniffed Riggs, fiddling with his magic pen. "Sometimes that happens, you know." Richard reluctantly agreed, and they abandoned the search. 

Melissa was intolerable for the rest of the week. If she wasn't mourning the loss of Galen, she was enumerating the ways in which she hated him. 

"I'll never take him back," she fumed, on the way to breakfast on the fourteenth of February. "Not if he begs. Not if he cries." 

"I am so glad to hear you say that," said Beth. "He doesn't deserve you." 

"Right." 

"You need someone who can commit." 

"Absolutely. Not some slimy turncoat." 

"You stick to your guns, because someday he's going to try and win you over again -- but he's not going to mean it ..." They came into the Great Hall. "Just remember what he's like ..." She stopped dead. "You are _kidding_." 

The Great Hall was decked out in pink and red hearts. It looked like a rosebush had exploded. Students were picking tentatively at pink, heart-shaped pancakes and brushing petals off of their plates. 

Melissa's face clouded over. "Valentine's Day," she sneered. 

"Who did this?" Beth wondered, wandering through the pink wonderland to take her spot at the flower-infested Slytherin table. 

"Take a guess," said Melissa, and she pointed to the head table. 

Gilderoy Lockhart stood at the head table, beaming in a way that indicated exactly who was to blame for the decor. His robes were the kind of pink that ought to be banned. "Happy Valentine's Day!" he cried, clearly delighted with himself. "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards!" 

"Bet that half of them are from Antigone," muttered Beth. 

Melissa sniggered. "And the other half, he sent to himself." 

Without warning, a troupe of dwarves dressed like cherubim came into the Great Hall. The Slytherin table dissolved into muffled hysterics. 

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" Lockhart announced, grinning madly. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here!" 

"Oh boy!" warbled Melissa blissfully. 

"I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion!" 

The look on Snape's face showed _exactly_ why not to ask him how to whip up a Love Potion. 

"And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met -- the sly old dog!" 

Professor Flitwick sank down to the table before vanishing entirely. 

"Don't miss the chance to pierce the heart of your beloved!" Lockhart cried cheerfully, as everyone left for classes. "Valentine's Day comes only once a year! Any more valentines for me can be delivered by dwarf -- they're chipper little fellows!" 

Chipper wasn't the word, thought Beth, as two of the dwarves got into a fight and started bashing each other with their halos. 

Class was distracting to say the least. Dwarves in paper wings kept stomping in to deliver love poems to Antigone Von Dervish, who fluttered her eyelashes as if trying to win over the dwarves themselves. She got so many in Charms that Professor Flitwick put a dwarf-repelling hex on the door. Every once in a while they could hear someone grabbing the doorknob and, a few seconds later, thudding against the other wall. 

It was no better in Transfiguration. McGonagall was beside herself. 

"The next dwarf through that door is going to find itself another species!" she swore hotly, as a trio of dwarfs trundled back from delivering a three-part harmony to Antigone. 

"It's disgusting," Melissa muttered to Beth. "What do they see in her?" 

"I think it's what they see _on_ her," said Beth, eyeing Antigone's figure. 

McGonagall vainly tried to resume class. "Bone structure. In the case of creature-to-creature transformations, it's important to be aware of the different anatomies. If the muscles are not carefully recalibrated, the new creature could limp, or worse, be unable to walk at all. Are you listening to me, Von Dervish?" 

Antigone made no attempt to look interested. 

"Well it's certainly no skin off my back if you fail to learn the test material. Which brings us to the issue of skin covering. Fur, hair, bristles --" 

The door swung open. "Telegram," croaked a grizzled dwarf, and he marched into the room. 

_Zap!_ The dwarf vanished and a startled-looking chicken stood in its place. 

"Now shoo," said McGonagall sternly. 

The chicken backed away from her a step; then it bolted across the floor and jumped onto Melissa's desk. She shrieked and pulled away. It picked up her quill in its teeth, and tilting its head, started to scrawl on her notebook. After a few laborious seconds, it spat out the quill, leapt off of the desk and dashed into the hallway, with McGonagall in hot pursuit. 

Beth watched the chicken be chased out the door. "I think McGonagall's going to transform Lockhart next for putting her through this," she laughed, turning back to Melissa. 

Melissa wasn't listening at all. She was reading the chicken scratch with an increasingly rapt expression. Beth leaned over the page. 

_My dearest love   
I cannot express how much   
My heart longs for you   
Return to me   
And I will hold you tight   
Forever   
Your true one   
Galen Melhorn_

Beth gaped at Melissa. "Don't listen to that!" she blurted. "Stick to your guns! Remember what he's like! What were you just saying this morning?" 

"How much I miss him ..." said Melissa. She was wearing the same kind of rapt, dreamy expression that she used to get after going for a walk with Galen. 

"_That wasn't it!_" fumed Beth. At the same time, a sinking realization came over her that no matter what had been said, Melissa was going to take him back and there was nothing that could be done. "It's not even good poetry," she said petulantly, but Melissa never heard her. 

***

The next Hogsmeade trip couldn't come soon enough. Mervin was exhausted from trying to keep up with Daedalus's Transfiguration assignments; for once, he was content to just sit in the Three Broomsticks and nurse a warm butterbeer. 

"Shouldn't you be trying to turn that bottle into a pine tree?" Beth teased, as they sat around one of the worn oak tables. 

Mervin gave her a dirty look. "You're just lucky we're not turning people into toads until next week." 

Melissa was swiveling around in her chair, trying to see if she knew any of the patrons. "Hey, there's Rich!" she exclaimed, twisted around almost backwards. "What _is_ he doing?" 

They looked over to a table in the corner, where Richard was engaged in conversation with a tall, rough-looking man. They had a parchment spread out between them, and they would both point to it every once in a while. "That's Dave Gudgeon," Beth said in surprise. "I sat by him at the funeral. What d'you think they're up to?" 

"Bet we find out Thursday," Melissa grinned. "Either that or it's top-secret and he'll never tell us." 

She was wrong. As they watched, the two conspirators rolled up the parchment. Richard stuck it in his pocket before they shook hands. Gudgeon strode out of the Three Broomsticks, giving Beth a friendly wave as he went by. Richard drew up a seat with them. 

"I've been writing to the alumni, looking for restorative potions," he muttered, bent low over the table. "Dave Gudgeon said he knew one, so we've been talking. He's gone over the map of the Forbidden Forest with me, and we've got a clear path all worked out." 

"To _what?_" demanded Mervin. 

"Shhh!" Richard glanced over his shoulder suspiciously. "There's a tree back in the forest --" 

Melissa stifled a snicker. "No kidding." 

He scowled at her. "Would you let me finish? It's a _magic_ tree. It grows three kinds of fruit: copper plums, silver pears, and golden apples. The plums aren't good for anything but decoration. The apples are poisonous. But the pears will revive anyone who's sick -- cures any illness, breaks any curse. Thing is, the tree's guarded, so when we go in we'll have to be ready to fight." 

"We?" Mervin said, too loudly. Richard shushed him again. 

"Yes, we, as many as we can get! If we get the fruit we can turn Dell back into a live person -- a live snake, anyway." 

"When are we going in?" asked Beth, in little more than a whisper. 

"Tomorrow. Meet by the fireplace at midnight." Then Richard stood up and left. 

They watched him abandon the Three Broomsticks and go out into the street to track down the other members. 

"You know," said Beth, "he didn't mention what the tree was guarded by." 

"I wonder if he knows," Melissa said. 


	19. The Forbidden Forest

**Chapter Nineteen: The Forbidden Forest**

Beth wasn't anticipating the midnight excursion with much excitement. She'd been out on S.S.A. missions before, and they had a tendency to be nerve-wracking if not outright dangerous. Nevertheless, she and Melissa stayed by the fire yawning until they were the only two. The common room was gloomy at that hour; the low green lamps cast strange shadows around the high-backed chairs and ornately worked fireplace. 

Evan and Mervin came down at around a quarter to midnight, looking like they'd woken up specifically for the event. Richard followed soon after. It was incredible how he could look like he was having the time of his life even in the middle of the night. He beamed around at the sleepy members. "Well, we're all here -- let's get on." 

Melissa looked around in surprise. "This is all?" 

Richard nodded. "Bruce and Uther had Quidditch practice all evening and begged out due to exhaustion. One of the firsties is having a crisis of homesickness, so Riggs needs to stay around in case it happens again. Herne is right out." Evan snorted. "As for Vivian, I didn't even tell her we're going -- she's had a lot on her mind -- I don't know if she'd be up for it." He spread his arms. "And that leaves us." 

Mervin gave Evan a very mistrusting look, as if he were the last person he'd want with him in the Forbidden Forest. 

Richard was tugging on one of the high-backed chairs. Beth went to help him pick it up and move it several feet to one side. When it was out of the way, Richard peeled up the edge of the carpet until there were several square feet of stone floor showing. As hard as Beth looked, she couldn't make out the outline of a door of any kind. 

"Isn't there a trap door?" Melissa asked, also staring hard at the solid floor. 

"Of course." Richard was beaming again; there was nothing he liked better than being the only keeper of a secret. He bent down and tapped the floor with his wand. "_Gettus outtathis madhaus_." 

The stones shimmered. They started to melt and peel away, leaving a gaping hole in the floor. A very narrow staircase went down into the hole, but Beth couldn't tell how far -- it was soon swallowed up in the inky blackness. 

"What's down there?" asked Mervin nervously, running a hand through his curly red hair. 

Richard waved his hand distractedly. "Just a tunnel. Now hurry up and get down there so we can close this back up!" 

Without hesitation, Evan started down the staircase. His figure disappeared into the darkness. Melissa followed, not looking at all excited about the excursion, and Mervin went after her. He seemed to want to stay as close as possible to everyone else. Beth waited until he had vanished into the shadows, then started down the stairs. 

The depth of the darkness was overwhelming. Beth put out her hands and felt dirt walls on either side; not knowing what else could be there, she quickly drew them back. Behind her, Richard was already inside, laying the carpet back and closing up the hole with a quickly whispered command. The blackness was complete. 

"_Lumos_." Evan had had the presence of mind to light his wand. Embarrassed, Beth and the others followed suit. The dark was replaced with eerie blue light, and Beth could finally see what was around her; earthen walls, a damp dirt ceiling, and a long straight tunnel where the stone staircase ended. She joined the others at the bottom of the staircase. 

"Straight forward now," muttered Rich, coming up to them. They started down the tunnel. Even the light from their wands only illuminated a few feet before them. Beth was grateful; she didn't want to see the spiders, earthworms, and heaven-knew-what-else lurking in every niche and crack. 

Finally Evan drew up short. "End of the road," he whispered. Beth peered over Mervin and Melissa for a better look. The tunnel came to a complete halt; a ladder stretched up ten feet through a hole in the ceiling. Evan scrambled up the ladder; there was a scrabbling noise, and suddenly moonlight filled the passage. 

One by one they clambered out and rolled onto the ground. Evan stood nearby, a large block of snow-covered sod at his feet. When they were all out, he bent down and fitted it over the hole in the ground, completely obscuring the passage from sight. The only evidence that they had been there was the disturbance in the snow. Richard smoothed that over with a few kicks before turning to the others. 

"We stay together and follow the map," he ordered, his voice low. His breath could be seen against the dark, cold forest. "No one strays, no one. Understand?" They nodded. "Come on." 

The Forbidden Forest was stark in the moonlight. The crunching of their footsteps in the snow was nothing compared to the squeaks, hoots, and rustles in the leaves around them. The pale blue light at the ends of their wands barely penetrated the thick woods, and more than once Beth saw something dart just outside the corner of her vision. She pulled her cloak around her tighter. 

Richard bent over the map, reading by the vague light of Mervin's wand. Something about the shadows and the way he was concentrating gave Beth a sudden, sharp vision of the adult he would become. Then it was gone, and the woods loomed over them in silent dominance. 

A feral snort made them all jump; they huddled closer together. Melissa was shivering from the cold. Evan's face was more pale than usual, but his expression was just as stoic as ever. Richard looked up from Gudgeon's map and spoke. 

"We seek help." 

His voice was quiet but forceful. Beth thought first that he was crazy for speaking aloud and second that if it were her, she'd be asking for more than just help. 

The moonlight to their left began to shift and slide as a dark shape moved behind the brush. Then it stepped out toward them, and Beth saw that it was an impossibly tall man -- no, a man on a horse. It came closer, and the light of the moon illuminated a naked black torso and a sleek horse's body. A centaur, Beth realized, with unabashed awe. To stand in the presence of a creature of myth was eerie and exhilarating. 

It spoke, and its voice was deep and rustic. "You are from the school?" 

"Yes. We have business in the forest. Dave Gudgeon thought that we might find some help from you and your kind." 

The centaur dipped politely but firmly. "We do not meddle in the affairs of men." 

"But you have given aid to the affairs of our Society." Richard pulled the ring from his finger and held it out like a talisman. 

The centaur looked at the ring. "Tin and lead," it said softly. "Together, stronger and brighter than each. It represents you well." Beth realized that it could actually see the ring, but in the darkness she couldn't tell whether it wore a ring of its own or used some gift of its species. It turned its dark head to the sky. "See the Pleiades, their youngest sister almost obscured. You are seeking something." 

"We seek the Precious Tree," said Richard clearly. "We need safe passage through the Barren Glen." 

The centaur pawed at the ground with his front hoof. "What fruit would you find?" 

"The silver. A friend of ours is enchanted." 

Tossing his head, the centaur gave a little sigh. "Mankind is forever enchanted," he said cryptically. "I will take you through the Glen, but no further. Your quest is your own." 

"Will you wait for us to return as well?" 

The centaur inclined his head. "Come." He started off through the forest, completely disregarding the path. Richard followed, motioning to them to come along. 

Walking through the Forbidden Forest at night, creepy as it may be, was nothing compared to following a fantastic creature off the beaten path and into its fallow depths. Beth felt her whole body tense up as the gloom pressed in, weird noises on every side. Mervin started to whistle nervously until Melissa threatened to kill him if he didn't knock it off. Twice the centaur stopped and cried out sharply; this was followed by some loud rustling nearby, as if something was running away. Beth caught a glance of long, hairy legs and after that resolved not to look around any more. 

Finally the centaur drew to a halt. The students gathered around him. They stood at the brink of a vast empty field, brown with decay, a wreath of mist hovering barely a foot from the marshy ground. Dead trees poked out at odd angles, and the mist swirled in places where small creatures must be stirring it up from beneath. Beth gave a shudder. 

"The Barren Glen," said the centaur gloomily. "You must stay with me, step where I step -- and never obey what you see or hear." 

Before Beth could wonder what that meant, the centaur stepped into the Glen and, one by one, they followed. 

The ground was spongy; Beth's sneakers sank in at least an inch with every step. She stayed close behind Evan, who kept his wand lit with an eerie blue light and kept peering around into the mist as if willing himself to see something there. 

Something was there, gradually taking shape from the swirling mist -- it was a tremendously long neck and a head that bobbed high above, faintly like a snake, but thick at the bottom, like a dinosaur, or a -- 

"S-s-sea monster," stammered Mervin, frozen with terror. He lurched as if to run. Richard grabbed him by the arms and held him in place even as the great neck bowed and the head bore down on them, sharp little teeth gnashing above them. Beth closed her eyes tightly. 

"It is a shade, nothing more," called the centaur from the front of the group. "Leave it be. It cannot harm you." 

Slowly, Beth opened her eyes. The sea monster roared once, flinging its head back, and then sank back into the murky earth. 

Mervin drew a shaky breath. "Heh. N-nothing." He gave an unnerved grin. Still it was a minute before he was persuaded to move on. 

"Bogarts own these woods," the centaur said gloomily, and his deep voice carried over the flat marsh. "You must not listen." 

A sound rose to cover his voice: another voice, masculine, and vaguely familiar. 

"Disgrace! Failure! Disgrace! Failure!" 

Richard stopped in his tracks. As they watched, Jules Rothbard came stalking through the mist, his cape billowing, wide white moustache twitching in anger. 

"You've led this group astray ever since your induction," Rothbard bellowed at Richard, who now practically quaked in his shoes. "Nothing's gone right -- lost everything. You're a disgrace! Failure! Disgrace!" 

Beth felt a deep shame welling up inside her, as if she were taking the brunt of Rothbard's rant. "Rich, it's a lie!" she cried in a high-pitched, terse voice. Rothbard turned on her, eyes flashing. Then he vanished into the smoke. 

"Come," called the centaur. "We have far to go." 

Richard ran his hands over his face. "No wonder nobody knows where the tree is," he muttered to himself. "It's halfway through Hell." 

His voice echoed in the clearing. 

"Come on," said Melissa clearly. "Let's just finish the job." 

The echo sounded ... _job ... job ... _

That's not a woman's job, you'll see when you're older ... 

"What?" shrieked Melissa furiously. She whirled around but there was no one to be seen. The Glen was empty and dead. 

_You can't do it, a mere female could never accomplish anything worthy enough_ ... 

"Shut up!" screamed Melissa. Her face was contorted and she clenched her fists at her sides. "You're nothing!" 

_Nothing ... a girl is nothing ..._

"You're not real!" 

_real ... real ..._

And the sound died away. 

Beth's heart sank. She leaned toward Evan. "We're next," she said quietly. 

The wind picked up and the fog began to whirl and shape, leaving swirls of gray behind as it twisted into a pair of whirlwinds that rose and contorted until the mist was blown away to reveal two people standing together: a dark-haired man, and a woman with curly black hair and a beaky nose, whom Beth had only see in photographs. 

"Mom?" she croaked. 

Melissa grasped her arm. "It's not her, it's a trick!" she hissed ferociously. "Don't go toward it! It's an illusion --" 

But even as she was speaking, Evan gave a hoarse cry of "Dad!" and bolted toward the male figure who stood and beckoned to them. As soon as he left the path, the two images vanished; and Evan disappeared into the mist. 

Richard gave a strangled cry and started forward, but the centaur bellowed, "Do not move!" and plunged away from them. He galloped to where Evan had been last seen and sank away from sight; only his head reappeared above the fog once or twice before bobbing down again. 

Melissa's fingers dug into Beth's arm. Mervin goggled in blatant disbelief as the centaur struggled with nothing. 

Slowly, the tumult calmed and the fog smoothed over. 

Richard let out a long moan. Melissa drew in a deep breath before whispering, "Where -- where do we go from here?" 

There was deep silence. Then -- 

The centaur burst out of the misty march, covered with slime and fog that seemed to cling to his flanks. He had Evan in his arms. He fought his way back to the group of them and set Evan down on his feet before turning back to them. 

"Only walk where I walk. Stay close." 

Then he turned and moved on. 

They followed numbly behind. Evan let his wand go out and stuffed it into his pocket, morose and utterly ashamed. They struggled through the deepening mud and the mist that closed in around them, until the centaur said, 

"We have arrived." 

Suddenly Beth felt solid, dry ground beneath her feet. She looked up in surprise. They were on a slight rise -- a kind of island in the sea of fog. In the center of the island was a tree that even in the darkness glimmered from a thousand points of light nestled in its leaves. 

"The Precious Tree," breathed Richard. 

Longing full and sincere swung over Beth. She had never seen anything as lovely as the tree, or as inviting and warm as the fruit it bore. The silver pears, the copper plums -- above all, the golden apples beckoned to her, ripe and shining amid the dark leaves. 

They started forward; then Richard, at the fore of the group, pulled back. "Wait," he whispered. 

A rustling sound reached their ears. From behind the tree's massive trunk strolled a lion -- no, more than a lion, it had wings and the head of a woman. Richard sank to one knee. "My lady Sphynx." 

The rest of them hastily followed suit. The Sphynx bestowed on Richard a smile, kindly but strong. She spoke, and her voice was an eerie song. 

    "He who would take from the Precious tree   
    "Must answer the riddle I give to thee.   
    "What is given but not received,   
    "What is seen but is not believed,   
    "What is born which never dies,   
    "What succeeds but never tries?" 

The words were a jumble in Beth's mind. Anxiously she turned back to where the centaur had last stood. 

He was gone. 

Richard and all the others had risen to their feet; they drew into a huddle. 

"Mad," said Mervin, shaking his head, "stark, raving mad, absolutely mental -- that's four riddles, and I haven't got a clue about any of them --" 

"Given but not received ..." Melissa murmured. "Seen but not believed ..." 

Evan looked back at the Sphynx. "Will you repeat it, please?" 

The Sphynx obliged. Her voice rose and fell with the rhythm of the rhyme. 

"Seeing is believing," said Richard hopelessly. 

"What is born but never dies?" Beth said slowly. "A fantastic creature ... that never dies ... but that's ridiculous, _everything_ dies," she finished furiously. "There's no answer to this riddle!" 

Melissa looked up suddenly. "Of course!" she breathed. "Every gift is received or it can't be given. Everything that's born someday dies. Seeing is believing -- and you can never succeed if you don't try!" She straightened up and looked the Sphynx in the eye. "The answer is -- nothing!" 

The Sphynx smiled at Melissa, and her delight was genuine. "Your answer is true, you will be let through. Pick but one fruit from the tree, but be cautious -- choose carefully." She stepped aside. The Precious Tree loomed before them, glittering and glorious. 

"There they are," breathed Beth. The golden apples hung full and ripe on the tree, low on their branches. Enthralled, she moved toward them and put out her hand to pick one. The gleam of the golden apple filled her sight, rung in her ears, drew her closer to the shimmering fruit that promised life, happiness, and more ... 

Beth's arm was wrenched away from the apple. "What?" she cried angrily, the entrancing apple forgotten. 

Evan had pulled her back. "The golden apples are the poisonous ones," he said softly. 

Beth jerked away from the tree. "I don't know what -- it was calling me --" she tried to explain. It sounded lame even to her, but Evan nodded like he understood. 

"Got it!" 

Richard ran toward them, clutching a silver pear in one hand. "This will cure him -- this is it!" he rejoiced. Melissa and Mervin followed behind him, cheering. "Now all we have to do is get back ..." 

He stopped and looked out across the vast marsh and the mist that enveloped it. 

The centaur was nowhere to be seen. 

Richard's shoulders sagged. "Here, hold this," he said, shoving the pear into Beth's hands. Very slowly he walked to the outside of the island and walked around its perimeter. The centaur did not appear. 

"He didn't promise," said Melissa helplessly. 

Beth put the pear in her pocket. What good was finding it if they could never get back? One wrong step and the swamp would swallow them all -- and this time, there would be no fantastic beast to dive in and save them. 

"My lady." 

Beth turned around. Mervin had approached the Sphynx and now knelt before her. "I ask a boon from you, Guardian and Riddle-Keeper of the Precious Tree." 

The Sphynx tossed her head and batted at the ground with one large lion's paw. "Ask." 

"I beg passage out of the forest for the group of us." 

Mervin looked up at the Sphynx anxiously. The fabulous beast tilted her head, then smiled down at him. 

A vast, broad whirring noise filled the sky. 

Beth looked up in horror. All she saw was a flutter of tawny wings before she was clenched around the shoulders and pulled up into the air. Panicking, she struggled with the force until she saw the others being lifted the same way, by monsters that were part lion and part eagle ... 

"Griffons," shouted Mervin, almost crying with relief, as he was hoisted into the sky. 

They rose higher and higher, supported only by the claws on their shoulders. Beth got dizzy and gripped the griffon by its ankles before clenching her eyes shut. 

"Look down, it's _fabulous!_" cried Melissa. 

Beth slowly opened one eye. With a gasp, she opened them both. Below them, the Forbidden Forest was teeming with life. Centaurs gathered around a vast bonfire; pixies twittered and flitted around an old pine tree; a mother wolf gathered her cubs around her at the peak of a hill. Beth had never imagined that the dark forest was so bright with activity, so full of magic and magical creatures. 

_I wonder if Dumbledore knows about all this_, she thought giddily. The answer came to her. No one knew -- not Dumbledore, not Dave Gudgeon, not any of the five who had been through its depths and back. The forest was impenetrable, and it was beautiful. 

The beating of the griffon's wings slowed, and Beth felt herself sinking to the ground. She looked back over her shoulder for one more look at the forest from above; but then she was landing softly on the earth, and the griffon flew away. One by one her friends dropped onto the ground and their transports flapped off, cawing to each other in the clear moonlight. 

Beth stood up. They were on the very edge of the Forbidden Forest. She let out a shaky sigh. 

"We did it," said Richard, and he sounded more in awe than relieved. 

They had the fruit -- they were all out of the forest, and safe -- the castle was in sight, their beds were a few minutes away. Warm relief filled Beth's chest. She felt fully relaxed for the first time since Daedalus had been Petrified. It was all going to turn out all right. 

A blinding light flooded her sight. She stopped in her tracks, completely blinded, and heard the rest of the S.S.A. come to a halt around her. "Who's there?" a gruff voice demanded. 

The light subsided and became the wick of a lantern, high in the darkness. It was held up by the huge arm of the enormous gamekeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, and he didn't look at all pleased to see them. 


	20. The Silver Pear

**Chapter Twenty: The Silver Pear**

"Five of yeh!" Hagrid growled, advancing on them angrily. "After midnight! These days! Yeh could all be attacked!" Before Beth knew what was happening, they were swept into Hagrid's hut and the door slammed shut. 

The five of them hung together uncertainly in a corner while Hagrid glared at them. "What do yeh think yer doin' -- sneakin' around the grounds this late!" he roared. "Those woods is dangerous in the daytimes, more'n that at night! Whatever's bin attackin' folks could be in there now -- and yer walkin' righ' up to it, askin' ter get Petrified!" He shook his enormous head in disbelief. "When Dumbledore hears about this, he'll skin yeh alive. Migh' let Filch get out his ankle chains." 

There was a long, tense pause. Beth felt like she was going to faint. If they were turned in, someone would find the fruit in their pockets, they'd be given detentions for the rest of the year, and that was the end of Daedalus Dellinger. Worse -- what if this was worth expulsion? Her stomach twisted. 

Evan spoke up for the first time since their capture. "Not everyone knows what happened last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, Hagrid," he said softly. 

Hagrid's bright eyes filled with fear. "Yeh wouldn't -- s'not true --" His expression closed off suddenly. "I don't know what yer talkin' about," he avowed stubbornly, crossing his great arms across his massive chest. 

"I think you do," said Evan, just as softly. His quiet voice carried surprising weight. "But no one else needs to. Let us go." 

Hagrid narrowed his eyes and became very quiet. "Yeh'd just tell anyway." 

"I haven't yet," Evan replied. 

Richard spoke up. "Hagrid, let us go back to the castle. If Filch catches us, just pretend you never saw us out here. We're not making trouble and we're not doing anything wrong." 

Except sneaking around the Forbidden Forest at one in the morning, Beth thought sickly. 

Hagrid looked unconvinced. "Please, Hagrid," begged Melissa. "We're going back to bed right now -- weren't we, Rich?" 

"Right," said Richard, but his words were drowned out by a sudden cry: 

"_Bacchus Somnulus!_" 

A shower of wine-colored sparks exploded in the gamekeeper's face. His beady black eyes grew wide in surprise -- then he turned slowly on his heel and fell forward onto his face, out cold. Mervin was standing behind him, putting his wand back in his pocket. 

"Nice shot," Evan commented. 

Mervin shrugged. "He's sort of hard to miss." 

Melissa was looking at the fallen figure in horror. "What did you _do_ to him?" 

"The Sleep of Bacchus. He'll sleep all night and wake up tomorrow with a champion hangover. That's one they don't teach you in Charms," he added proudly. 

"Oh we're going to be in so much trouble!" Melissa gasped, still staring at Hagrid. "Putting a hex on the faculty! Someone's got to fix his memory -- otherwise we'll all get expelled!" 

"_Obliviate tempore_," Mervin replied almost idly, flicking his wand at Hagrid's head. A few white sparks came out of his wand and settled in Hagrid's bushy black hair before fading out. "That'll erase the last couple of hours. He'll probably wake up thinking he drank too much with dinner," he guessed, with a nasty grin. 

Richard was regarding Evan curiously. "What were you saying about what happened last time the Chamber was opened?" 

Evan tilted his head toward Hagrid. "When the Chamber was opened fifty years ago, Hagrid got the blame. He was kicked out for it." 

Richard looked bowled over. "Hagrid? The Heir of Slytherin?" 

"Ridiculous, I know. He was Gryffindor, for starters. Second, Dumbledore wouldn't keep him on if he thought he was guilty. But if someone gets it in their heads that he's out to get revenge, or something ..." He shrugged. 

Hagrid snorted just then; so on Richard's urging, they hurried out of the cabin and shut the door. A broom shed near the castle led to a tunnel behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy; they climbed out from behind the statue on the third floor of the castle, cold and muddy. Beth was thoroughly ready to go to bed. 

A bucket full of confetti turned over on her head. 

Flabbergasted, Beth spat out a mouthful of paper and looked around in time to see Richard and Melissa get the same treatment. Three empty buckets clattered to the ground; the noise echoed in the empty halls. Then a piercing voice cried: 

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED! THERE ARE STUDENTS IN THE HAAAAALLS _AND THEY'RE MAKING A MESS!_" 

And Peeves zoomed away cackling. 

Richard cast about desperately. "Split up!" he spat. Beth tore down the hall to her right. She could hear someone panting behind her. She skidded to a halt in front of a broom closet, wrenched it open, and dove inside. The other person crammed in with her and shut the door. 

It was none too soon. The sound of boots came thundering past, accompanied, alarmingly, by the clatter of chains. 

"Filch," murmured the other person. It was Richard. Suddenly Beth was keenly aware of how his chest rose and fell as he breathed. 

Richard shifted a little; he put his ear to the door so that he could hear. Scarcely breathing, Beth did the same. 

At first there was nothing. Then: 

"Well, how remarkable. Out for a midnight stroll, Rudisille?" 

"That's Herne!" hissed Richard. 

Herne's voice came, stammering and scared. "I -- I don't know -- I was asleep and then I -- I was here --" 

"Likely!" spat Filch. "We'll see what Professor Snape thinks of that story! I've brought the chains in case he doesn't buy it." 

"No, I mean it -- can't remember --" 

There was a short scuffle, then the sound of stomping boots and clanging chains ... they came closer and closer ... Beth jerked back, they were right outside the door ... and they went on past. 

"Back to the common room -- now!" Richard whispered, and they crept out of the closet and bolted down the hall to the dungeons. They skidded in front of the secret door. 

"Academia," gasped Richard. The door appeared, and they leapt into the common room. 

Someone grabbed Beth's arm and jerked her behind one of the tall chairs. 

"Snape's out," Melissa whispered. "We were waiting for you. We have to get to bed _immediately_ or he's going to come back and kill us." 

"Sure," breathed Beth. They stood up and, without a glance back, bolted up to their room, leapt onto Melissa's bed and jerked the curtains closed. 

"_Lumos_." 

They were bathed in blue light. Beth looked at Melissa. Then she pulled a silver pear from the pocket of her robe. 

"We did it." 

Beth felt giddy, relieved laughter start to bubble up inside her. She put a hand over her mouth and sank down, shaking with suppressed laughter. Melissa caught the bug and started to quiver, trying not to giggle madly. They leaned on each other, laughing silently, until tears ran down their cheeks. The silver pear lay on the quilt between them. 

***

"And now," said Richard sternly, "we have to figure out how to feed a statue." 

It was the day after the big excursion. The five adventurers, along with Vivian, had gathered in the Vase Room with the silver pear. The snake Daedalus had been taken down from his shelf and put back on the divan. Vivian had been a nervous wreck all day, and it showed. 

"Just cut it up and put it in his mouth! Mash it! We can force it down!" She gripped the pear as if she were trying to squeeze it to bits. 

"We've got to be careful," insisted Richard. "What if we choke him?" 

"Then he won't be any worse off," said Vivian savagely. Without warning, she tore off a chunk of the pear, picked up Daedalus, and stuffed it into his frozen serpentine mouth. 

Richard let out a yell and tried to grab the snake away from her, but she held it back from him. Her eyes were alight. 

"I feel something." 

The snake in her hands twitched. It twisted. Then, as color started to flow over its Petrified scales, it slithered out of her hands and onto the floor. The snake darted under the divan and behind a vase. 

"It worked!" she shrieked, jumping up and down. "Come on, Dell, change back!" 

For a moment, Beth wondered absurdly if he could even change back after all of that. What if he had lost his memory -- or his soul? They would be stuck with a live but half-human snake forever. Her heart sank. 

There was a flash of light. From behind a tall vase stepped Daedalus Dellinger -- in his own animate human form. 

Vivian burst into tears and threw her arms around his neck. 

He held her tightly for a few minutes, while the S.S.A. celebrated around them. Finally he looked up at them. 

"What day is it?" 

"The twenty-second of February." 

He closed his eyes and laid his cheek on the top of Vivian's head. "Then I have a lot of catching up to do." 

Vivian started to cry harder. 

***

They dashed back to the common room. The rest of the members had been waiting up; as soon as they came in there was an explosion of excitement, and Daedalus was completely swarmed. 

"It worked! You really did it!" 

"Dell, I thought we'd never see the real you again!" 

"_Amazing._" 

"What was it like?" 

"Keep it quiet or we'll all be in trouble!" This was from Riggs. 

"Oh, who cares. Dell's back!" 

"Speaking of trouble." Richard turned a worried face to Herne. "What happened last night? We heard Filch catch you." 

Herne gave a shy grin. "He did. I was sort of lurking around, waiting for you to get back, and when I heard Peeves I tried to get there before Filch. Gave him a story about sleepwalking. Snape believed it -- he was more mad at Filch than me. So I got out of detention this time." 

"That was fantastic," said Richard seriously. 

Herne shrugged modestly. "I figured getting caught out is what I'm best at. I get enough practice anyway." 

"It saved my life," said Daedalus. 

Beth had never seen anyone more embarrassed than Herne was, or a more relieved group of people than they all were right then. 


	21. The Tapestry Revelation

[**Author's Note**] Notes for everybody! This chapter's a bit anticlimactic after the last two, so I thought I'd take the chance and reply to some of your comments. AniMourner: You're awesome, I wish my beta was as hard on me as you are. I definitely need that kind of anal analysis, since the devil's in the details and that's the point of the novel, really. I'll take all your recommendations to heart. Keep nitpicking, I love that. Taracollowen: Thanks for all the encouragement! I love the new handle, btw. Gramarye: _The Dark is Rising_ is truly incredible; I reread the sequence over Christmas and was just blown away at the gorgeous imagery and deep sense of mystery. (Tried to model Ch. 19 after that, of course I can't come close, Cooper being a genius and all) :-) Sophie W.: You don't have to beg, I promise I'll finish this up! thistlemeg: Just to clear things up, I'm not sitting here writing my butt off every night -- the whole thing's already written, I just have to fix it up so that it looks pretty in html. It took about three months to pull this all together. Hmm ... someone's insightful ... you're a good guesser, please don't let anything slide in the reviews that might spoil it for somebody else! Also: Evan's dad was a Death Eater who was killed when he resisted capture (Wilkes, he's mentioned in GoF). You might need to know that. As for why Dell didn't die: I should be more explicit about this, but he was stoned at the same time as Nick and Finch- Fletchley; the assumption is that he saw the ... uh, monster ... through Nick as well. And he doesn't know who Petrified him. That would take all the sport out of it. UnrepentantReader: Or should it be UnrelentingReader? :-) I appreciate your problem with Diggory's little cameo ... I've never seen him bashed in fanfic or Canon short of Ron's grumblings. 'Bout time he got a little, don'cha think? :-) Don't worry, the 'mystery man' shows up again. Springrain: Hey, I'll take comments any old time. I'm glad Melissa sounds familiar; that's the goal, isn't it, to make characters so realistic that you can point out people that they remind you of? KittyKat: I'll email you when the whole thing's posted, k? Kame - MerryTurtle: Awww, thanks! Your handle is too cool, by the way. Tess: I know what you mean about the SSA being a couple steps ahead of Harry & Co.; here are the three main excuses for it: 1) There are more people in the SSA (ten can get more done than three) and they're all a few years older, 2) They have a different set of clues to work with, not having the benefit of Harry's scar, Hermione's brilliance, or Ron's dad's Ministry connections, and 3) Since the plots are -- ultimately -- exactly the same, shaking up the order of discoveries is one of my feeble attempts to keep my version from being extremely boring. Good enough? BTW, PLEASE PLEASE update _Love on the Quidditch Pitch_, everybody go read it, I'm checking for updates every day now! bluemeanies: No, Snape doesn't know about the SSA (otherwise they would have been able to tell him why they went to London last year) Sinister purpose ...? Whatever could you mean ...? And no spoilers on who gets in next year. (btw, Ch18 of _The Serpents' Society_ was working fine for me, but thanks for the tip-off) Giesbrecht: Solo deo gloria -- I think we have a lot in common. Thanks for getting all my stupid one-liners. :-) Both books that Beth reads actually exist, I just thought it would be fun to comment on their similarities to, uh, other works of literature. :-)   
Wow, that's longer than I expected. Sorry about that. On to the story:   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Chapter Twenty-One: The Tapestry Revelation**

With Daedalus restored and winter dragging on, March became a haze of boredom. Beth's mad scramble to fix the Polyjuice potion had been like a breakthrough; after that, Alchemy wasn't nearly as much of a struggle. The S.S.A had gotten nowhere on their search for the Heir or the Chamber of Secrets. There hadn't even been an attack since before Christmas, and people were starting to say that the Heir of Slytherin was in hibernation. 

"I think we should prank the Gryffindors," Melissa said lazily, as they lounged in front of the fire one afternoon. 

Beth, doodling snakes on a scrap of parchment, didn't even look up to say, "Doesn't that take work?" 

"Yeah, you're right," sighed Melissa, snuggling farther into her chair. "Too much trouble for one little laugh." She twirled a piece of hair around her finger. "What about the Hufflepuffs?" 

"Have a heart, Mel," said Bruce, who was engaged in a halfhearted game of chess with Mervin on the floor. "They took enough of a beating at their last Quidditch match." 

Melissa giggled. "Oh right." 

There was a pause. 

"I guess that leaves the Ravenclaws then." 

"Mel, we're not going to prank the Ravenclaws," Beth said patiently. She thought for a minute. "Unless you come up with something really good." 

"Boo-yah! Who's your daddy?" bellowed Bruce from the floor, as one of his bishops dragged off Mervin's last knight. 

"Not you," sniffed Mervin, ordering his rook forward. 

Beth stared into the fire, getting sleepy. She roused herself and sat up. "I have to go for a walk, or I'm going to fall asleep," she announced, although no one was listening to her. She stepped over the chess game and went to the door, only to hear a whoop from Bruce and the familiar clunk of a chess piece getting knocked out. 

"Oh," said Mervin dejectedly. "Maybe you are my daddy." 

The halls of Hogwarts were fairly silent; one or two students were on their way to the library or a study session, but on the whole there were very few people about. Beth meandered through the corridors without purpose. On a whim, she turned into the Great Hall and walked around the empty tables, which would stand silent until dinner. She smiled at the picture of Helga Hufflepuff, turned up her nose at the tapestry of Godric Gryffindor (who eyed her suspiciously), and stopped in front of the tapestry of Salazar Slytherin. 

"Where's your Chamber?" she said idly, gazing into the long, goateed face. "Where've you hidden your legacy?" But the embroidered face remained stern and silent; Salazar Slytherin had nothing to say. Only the plumed serpent at his feet wound sinuously, as if feeling cooped up by the constraints of cloth. 

It was really a fantastic tapestry, Beth thought. The knotwork design around the edges was so intricate: bands of gold, interwoven like a wicker basket ... they seemed to have an unusual irregularity ... but yet an obvious, continuous purpose ... 

Beth leaned closer to the portrait until her nose was right up against Salazar's face. "Tell me your secret, greatest of the Hogwarts four," she breathed, staring into the embroidered slit eyes. 

There was a sound of tearing. Beth jumped back. The serpent was flexing its long coils, winding around the space at Salazar's feet. Then it slithered out of the center of the picture and up to the edge of the knotwork. It flicked its tongue at one thick strand of gold; then it slithered onto the band and started following it around the edge, ducking under crisscrossing bands as if they were bridges. 

Beth watched, fascinated, as the little plumed snake circled the border. It came out into an open space at the bottom, twisted around a bit, and then took the same path back to where it had come from. It coiled contentedly at Salazar's feet. 

Incredible, thought Beth. It had followed the design as if was a tangle of roads ... or of tunnels ... or _hallways_ -- 

"Show me that again," she said suddenly. 

The snake flicked a lazy tongue and remained still. 

She racked her brains for the words she'd said before. "Tell me your secret!" Nothing. "Come on, you stupid snake!" The serpent hissed and buried its head in its coils. "Follow the path again -- _greatest of the Hogwarts four!_" 

The cloth serpent raised its head grudgingly and slunk to the edge of the portrait, where it started following the knotwork path. "That's the same path you took before," Beth wondered. The serpent hissed as if that should have been obvious. It reached the open space at the bottom of the tapestry and stopped, giving Beth a very meaningful look. Then it retraced its trail once again. 

Beth's eyes widened. "Oh," she said stupidly. "If that place at the bottom is the Great Hall -- and you follow that ribbon -- you get to --" 

The serpent had reached the center of the tapestry and was bobbing its head expectantly. 

"The Chamber of Secrets!" 

***

Melissa sat up with a start as Beth came skidding into the common room, bowling over several of Mervin's chess pieces. 

"Hey, I was winning!" said Bruce in annoyance. 

Beth dropped down into their midst. "I know how to get to the Chamber of Secrets," she said in a low voice. 

The reaction wasn't nearly as dramatic as she'd hoped. Melissa wrinkled her brow skeptically. Mervin, gathering up his chess pieces, didn't seem to have even heard her. "What are you on about?" Bruce demanded, over the complaints of his chessmen. 

"I know how to get to the Chamber of Secrets," she said again. "The tapestry in the Great Hall shows the path. You ask it, and a snake shows you how to go." 

Finally, the others started to catch on. "You mean -- _Salazar's_ Chamber of Secrets?" Melissa said, her eyes suddenly bright. 

"Yeah, that's what I've been telling you! All we have to do is follow this path, and it'll take us right there!" 

Mervin looked, as usual, skeptical. "Why do we even _want_ to go in there? There's some enormous monster down there, remember?" 

He had a point. "Well -- if we can sneak in, we might be able to see it without getting attacked," Beth argued valiantly. "Once find out what's been attacking students, maybe Professor Lockhart can teach us how to fight it." 

Bruce snorted. "Or maybe he can teach us how to smile and talk at the same time." 

"All right then, Kettleburn," Beth snapped. "Or Dumbledore, or Snape, or anybody else, for crying out loud. The important thing is that we get in to see!" 

"Do you have a map?" asked Melissa. 

Which is why they found themselves back in the Great Hall, begging the embroidered serpent to make its rounds one more time. 

"All right, do your thing," Bruce ordered, to no avail. The serpent shook its plumed head doggedly. 

"Please?" said Melissa, biting her lip. 

"Show us the path, greatest of the Hogwarts four," Beth said dramatically, and the snake, heaving a sigh of resignation, started around the tapestry again while Mervin recorded its path on a piece of parchment, muttering all the while. 

"Left turn ... under a bridge -- wait, now it's over ... right, right again ... through a little loop ... wish he'd slow down a little!" The snake reached the bottom and turned around. "All right, double-checking now ... got that ... got that ... turn here ... all right!" Mervin exclaimed, when the plumed serpent once again coiled around Salazar's feet. 

He laid the finished map on the table and they crowded around it anxiously. 

"So we're here ..." Bruce murmured, tapping the map with one finger. "If this is the Great Hall, you go out and turn ... right ... down the hall ... what's this mean, where it overlaps another line?" 

"It's a staircase," Melissa said excitedly. "Going up." She snatched up the map. "Come on, let's not just _look_ at it!" And she took off, parchment in hand. 

They got lost twice before Bruce took control of the map. He led them through four floors and down innumerable hallways, all the time muttering things like "Left ... then another left ..." and "Well _that_ might do it." 

They came into a hallway and Bruce pointed down at the map. "Straight stretch," he grunted. Beth leaned over his shoulder excitedly. 

"Look, this is the end!" Beth said, forging on ahead. "You just follow this hall -- go so many steps -- and it takes you right to --" 

"A lavatory," said Mervin. 

Beth looked up. They stood in front of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. She let out a groan. 

"Where did we go wrong?" 

Bruce was looking at the map, turning it around and around and muttering to himself. Finally he looked up and shook his head. 

"I don't think we did." 

"Right, Salazar Slytherin hid his secret chamber in a girls' room," said Mervin sarcastically. 

"And why not?" Melissa bristled. "It would keep all the chauvinists away at least." She crossed her arms. 

Mervin held up his hands. "Okay -- all right -- maybe this _is_ it. Sheesh." 

They crept inside, careful that no one was in there. Beth looked around. 

"Myrtle?" 

There was no answer. "I'll bet she got flushed," Melissa guessed, with a little grin. "Sometimes she ends up in the lake. All the better. It's hard to think with her moaning about." 

Bruce was poking around in the corners already. "Must be a door here somewhere," he muttered, crawling around on the floor. "Trapdoor -- lever maybe -- a marker at least --" 

Suddenly Melissa let out a squeal of excitement. "Look here! On the sink!" 

They crowded around the sink where she stood. Mervin stood up too quickly and smacked his head on a toilet before coming over to join them. Melissa eagerly pointed toward a copper pipe leading towards the faucet. 

There was a tiny snake etched into the pipe. "The symbol of Slytherin," Melissa said dramatically. "This is it. I can feel it!" 

"There isn't a keyhole," Mervin noted dourly, rubbing the back of his head. 

Bruce was inspecting it closer. "It's got to be password-protected. What would the password be?" 

There followed a clamor as everyone did their best to crack the password. 

"Open the Chamber of Secrets!" 

"Alohomora!" 

"Salazar Slytherin is my hero!" This from Bruce. 

"Open Sesame!" 

"Open in the name of Slytherin!" 

"Open your chamber, greatest of the Hogwarts four!" Beth said triumphantly. 

Nothing happened. Beth felt her face get red. "Well -- that was my best guess," she said, embarrassed. 

Everyone stood looking at the pipe, but no one offered any more passwords. 

Suddenly Mervin's face fell. "Oh no," he moaned, covering his face with his hands. "It's a snake guarding the entrance. We have to talk to the snake to make it open. And to talk to snakes --" 

"You have to be a Parselmouth," Melissa finished in despair. 

They stared at the pipe helplessly. 


	22. The Chamber of Secrets

**Chapter Twenty-Two: The Chamber of Secrets**

It was a dead end. They went back to the library and slumped around a table. For the first time since Daedalus had been un-Petrified, Beth felt totally defeated. Salazar's goal was fulfilled: only his true Heir could come up with the password, and no matter how long they hissed and spat, no one else would ever guess it. 

"We've had it, haven't we?" Bruce said dejectedly. "I mean, we could kidnap Potter and make him let us in ... summon the ghost of Salazar Slytherin ..." 

Melissa shrugged and laid her head on her arms. 

"Tom Riddle could have done it ..." Mervin mentioned, staring idly at the wall. 

Without a Parselmouth, they couldn't go any farther. Beth sat with her head on her fist, staring at the floor. She'd only heard of four Parselmouths in her life: Salazar Slytherin, who was long dead; Tom Riddle, dead and missing for years; Lord Voldemort, who by all accounts was hiding, bodiless, in Albania; and Harry Potter. Potter would no sooner consent to help them than hand the Snitch to Draco Malfoy. She started to wonder if kidnapping him wasn't such a bad idea. They could use the Imperius Curse to make him open the chamber, then wipe his mind ... 

She sat up suddenly. "We haven't got a Parselmouth," she said breathlessly, "but what about a real live _snake?_" 

"Well sure," said Bruce morosely. Then he sat up. Understanding dawned. 

"I'll go get him and meet you in the bathroom." 

***

Daedalus bent over the faucet and examined the engraved snake. He scratched his head. "Sure this isn't just old Slytherin graffiti?" 

"Positive," insisted Melissa. 

"The tapestry led us straight here," agreed Beth. "It's got to be." She explained what they had decided about the Heir of Slytherin being a Parselmouth. "So go on. Open it up." 

He gave her a skeptical look, but took out his wand anyway. In a few seconds his form shimmered and faded; he shrank into the floor and slithered around, a long green serpent. 

Mervin let out a whistle. "It's been a while since we've seen that snake." 

"I've seen him like that about as much as I can stand," said Beth. She picked him up and put him on the sink, so that he was on level with the pipe. "All right, Dell." 

Daedalus slunk up to the engraved snake and nuzzled it a bit with his snout. He stuck out his tongue repeatedly. Then he opened his jaws wide, displaying a pair of vicious fangs, and started to hiss vehemently. 

Melissa shivered. "He's so _eerie_." Beth silently agreed. 

In the solid bathroom wall, a mass of brick began to grind and shift away until the sink slid away to reveal a massive pipe at least a yard in diameter. It gaped absurdly, pitch black just a few feet in. 

Daedalus fell off the sink and wriggled around before morphing back into a human. He scrambled to his feet. "I don't believe it!" he breathed. "That's it! You found it!" 

"It's actually here," said Beth slowly. She could hardly believe that they had followed the clues far enough to find a chamber that had lain hidden for centuries before them. She felt a glow of pride. 

"Excellent!" Bruce said. He lit up the end of his wand and stepped into the passage. He paused and turned around. "Are you all coming, or what?" 

Then he sat down and slid away through the pipe, like a boy in a water slide. 

One by one they followed, slipping around the curves as the pipe spun madly down into the deepest part of the castle. At the very end, the pipe shot out into a stone passage, just as slimy and black as the pipe had been. Beth got unsteadily to her feet. 

Inside the passage it was all dark stone and faint dripping. They could hardly see by the light of their wands -- just as well, Beth thought, because she didn't want to know what she was walking in. The tunnel twisted and curved like the coils of a snake, but there were no forks; at least they would not get lost. They walked in silence for nearly five minutes, huddling close to each other at the eerie rushing noises or the crunch of small bones beneath their feet. 

At the front of the group, Bruce stumbled a little. He raised his wand and looked around. "Careful, stones are loose here," he whispered. "One good hard jolt and we'd have a landslide." 

Melissa gave a little whimper. 

"Good, we need one of those," mumbled Mervin, his voice trembling despite the sarcasm. 

They crept along. Beth was suddenly struck by the thought of the tons of stone and wood above them -- they were in the very bowels of the castle, this very ceiling bore the weight of the entire building, and a quick rill of fear ran through her like a shudder. 

"Nox," said Bruce suddenly, and his wand went out. "There's light up here." 

One by one they dimmed their wands until the only light was a pale greenish glow a few hundred feet away. As they got closer, they could see that it came from around the edges of a large door with entwined snakes on it. Bruce reached out and gave it a shove. 

"No handle," he said quietly. "It's you again, Dell." 

Beth felt a whooshing of air behind her, and then Daedalus -- once again a snake -- slithered past and went up to the door. With a few brief flickers of his tongue, the door creaked open. The blaze of light grew brighter until the five of them stood staring into a cavernous room with low, greenish lighting and high columns. 

They were staring into the Chamber of Secrets! 

The green snake on the floor slithered inside and gazed around. He looked back and cocked his head at them. 

"He says it's all right," muttered Bruce, and he stepped inside. 

The Chamber was wide and stone, with tall pillars rising up to a high vaulted ceiling. At the far end of the hall, Beth could make out the feet and legs of a giant statue. Getting closer, she looked up and recognized the stern, thin face and the twisted beard: Salazar Slytherin, the fourth founder. The dim green light came from chandeliers that hung low and cast a strange glow on the stone floor. 

"It looks ... kind of like the common room," Melissa said tentatively. 

"Salazar probably built that too," said Bruce. 

A weird shadow flickered on the left. Mervin leapt a foot in the air and shrieked, "_Petrificus totalus!_" A streak of light rocketed from his wand, bounced off the far wall and ricocheted past them. There was a thud as a small brown bat fell to the floor. 

"What are you doing?" barked Bruce. 

Beth let out a nervous giggle. "Mervin tried to Petrify a statue," she said, pointing to where Mervin had (badly) aimed. There stood a stone statue of a teenage boy, with his arms thrust out and eyes that stared straight ahead in fear. 

Mervin scowled. "It _looks_ like a person," he grumbled. 

"Who would carve that?" asked Melissa with a shudder. 

Beth and Bruce went up to the stone boy. He held a wand in one hand. There was a ring on his other -- a ring with a broad crest of entwined snakes. It was a Society ring. 

"I don't think it was carved," said Beth slowly. 

"Look at this!" called Daedalus from across the room. Gratefully, Beth left the statue and went to where Daedalus stood, once more in his human form. 

"Wish you'd pick a species and stay with it," she told him offhandedly, but Daedalus was pointing at a collection of cauldrons and flasks on the floor. 

A vast variety of archaic potions equipment, from loopy glass tubing to thick lead vials, stood crammed together in a corner. There was one large empty spot with a piece of paper right in the middle. Daedalus reached down and picked up the paper; it crackled as he touched it. 

"Old," he muttered. 

"What's it say?" 

Daedalus carried the paper over to one of the low chandeliers so that he could make out the writing. He skimmed it over quickly and his eyes grew wide. "'In this spot stood the cauldron of Salazar Slytherin. It has been removed for the purposes of advancing the Slytherin house. Found by Tom Riddle." The last part was signed in a tight, quick handwriting. 

Bruce appeared at Daedalus's side and leaned eagerly over the note. "That's where it came from!" he said excitedly. "The cauldron!" He looked up at them. "We melt down the cauldron to get metal for the rings. Uther and I have been working on them all year, we've got the cauldron in the vase room now! I never wondered how Riddle got hold of it. He must have come down and taken it before he closed the Chamber that last time. Brilliant!" 

"He must have figured that only S.S.A. members would ever come down here," said Daedalus slowly. "Why else would he leave a message?" 

Beth remembered of the statue and shuddered. "One other member did come down," she said quietly, "but he didn't come out." She pointed to the statue of the boy and Daedalus hurried to look at it, taking the note with him. 

Melissa and Mervin were bent over the floor at the feet of the huge statue of Salazar. Each of them held something in their hands. Beth hurried to them. 

"Found this," said Mervin. He brandished a huge, scarlet feather at Beth. "Two of them, just laying here." 

Melissa was running her feather through her fingers, a strange expression on her face. "They say Salazar's avenger is a monster," she said softly. "It's a monster _bird_." 

"Phoenix?" asked Mervin, but Melissa shook her head disdainfully. 

"No, it's not a phoenix, believe me, I've seen plenty of phoenix feathers. I never saw anything like this." She scowled suddenly. "I'd know if it was a phoenix." 

Bruce and Daedalus came over to them. "He's frozen even more solid than the stiffs upstairs," said Daedalus. "Stone all the way through. We've got to find out who he is. The president, whatsisname, Rothbard will know." 

"Could we revive him once the mandrakes are full-grown?" asked Beth. 

Daedalus shook his head. "I don't know ... he's been here a long time." He bit his lip. "I'm going to put this note back where it was. We'd better not disturb anything. If the Heir finds out who's been in here, messing with his stuff --" 

"Or _her_ stuff," said Melissa viciously. "Anyway I'm taking the feathers. That monster's sure to have plenty to spare." 

Daedalus stood up from where he had been returning Riddle's note to its original place. "Let's get out of here. I keep feeling like I'm going to turn around and be turned to stone before I can scream." 

"There's my happy thought for the day," said Mervin. 

It was a subdued trek back through the winding tunnel and up the slippery pipe to the girls' bathroom. Although Beth looked over her shoulder at least ten times a minute, nothing -- not a monstrous scarlet bird, not a vengeful Heir -- came to kill them. Still, it was a relief to finally stumble out into the bright lighting of the main castle. The passageway slid shut, and one by one they slipped into the hallway. 

Bruce broke the silence. "Well," he grinned, "that was fun." 

"About as fun as a picnic in the Forbidden Forest," grumbled Melissa. But privately, Beth thought that Bruce was more right. 

***

Now that they narrowed down Salazar's monster -- it was a scarlet bird that could Petrify things -- it was time to find out exactly what it was. Beth could think of only one person who would be able to answer the riddle: Newt Scamander, author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and her next-door neighbor. 

_    Dear Mr. and Mrs. Scamander:   
    Hi! How are you? I'm having a good year at Hogwarts.   
    I have a question actually, Mr. Scamander, and you're the best person to answer it. Do you know of any kind of bird that has scarlet feathers and the power to Petrify people? It's bonus for class. Hope to see you soon,   
    Beth Parson
_

She folded up the letter. She knew that it was wrong to lie about the question being for class, but somehow it seemed like the kind of situation that would be worse if she told the truth. 

Beth took the letter up to the owlery. Daedalus was there, tying a letter to the leg of a big snowy owl. 

"What are you doing?" she asked casually. She whistled to a barn owl and it flapped over and stretched out a leg to allow her to attach her letter. 

"Writing to Rothbard," he said solemnly, "to see who that statue might be. You?" 

"Checking out that feather with someone I know." They let the owls go at the same time, and they soared up and out of the open eaves of the tower. Beth looked up at Daedalus. "Maybe now we can get some real answers." 

Daedalus watched the owls flap away. "I don't know if I want to hear them." 

***

They had intended to report what they'd seen at the next meeting, but by the time Thursday came around, everyone already knew. 

"It must have been spectacular," said Herne wistfully. 

"It was," said Beth. 

Richard waved his hands for their attention. "All right, chaps, gear up for an expedition, because we're all going back in there to check it out." 

"No we're not!" From behind the Ledger, Riggs had spoken up vehemently. Richard twisted around to see him. 

"What?" 

Riggs looked less stuffy than usual -- in fact, there was a twinge of fright in his expression. "Absolutely not. I'm putting my foot down. I let you all sneak around -- dangerous enough -- but going into the place where the monster lives is out of the question. You got lucky this time, but that creature could be out any day -- and there's a statue in there to prove it. I swear I'll report anyone who goes in again." 

Richard gave him an odd look. "Well ... all right. You're the prefect." He looked deeply disappointed. 

Daedalus had gotten a reply to his letter, and he brought it out at the meeting. "The statue we found was a real person, all right -- a former student," he said grimly. He clutched Rothbard's letter with both hands. "Back in 1974, an S.S.A. member named Ulysses Donner went missing, right in the middle of the school year. Nobody ever figured out what happened to him. The school figured he'd just run away, but Rothbard says the members all knew better. We've solved the mystery of his disappearance." He didn't look especially pleased by that. 

"Can he be restored?" asked Vivian in concern. 

"We can try once the mandrakes are grown," said Daedalus heavily, "but I'm not optimistic. Until then, I say we just leave him there. It won't hurt him to sit around for a few months after thirteen years of it." 

"He won't even notice it," said Vivian hollowly, and while she said it she looked at the place on the shelf where Daedalus had laid. 


	23. Puceys and Bludgers

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Puceys and Bludgers**

That Saturday was the Slytherin/Ravenclaw Quidditch match. All thoughts of the Chamber of Secrets seemed to have flown from Bruce's mind as he sat with the rest of the team, munching bacon and sharing in the hearty pre-game banter that Marcus Flint always used to "psych them up". 

"They're such _boys_," said Melissa in disgust, as Uther and Warrington engaged in a contest to see who could get more toast into their mouth at one time. 

An owl fluttered in and dropped a letter right onto Beth's bagel. She tore it open. "It's from Mrs. Scamander!" she exclaimed delightedly. "'Dear Beth, We're glad that school is going well, hope final exams are good' ... blah blah ... now Mr. Scamander is writing ... 'I'm sorry that I cannot answer your bonus question, to my knowledge there is no bird in existence that has the ability to Petrify a human, let alone such a bird with scarlet feathers'." Beth's face fell. 

At the same time, Melissa's practically lit up. 

"Mr. Scamander? Not Newt Scamander? The guy who wrote our Care of Magical Creatures textbook?!?" 

"That's him." 

"But -- how --?" 

Beth grinned. Melissa was the one who was interested in hobnobbing with famous witches and wizards. It was unusual that it was the other way around. "He lives down the road from me." 

Melissa clutched her chest and fell backwards into her chair. "And you never told me! I don't believe it!" 

"Yeah, well, it didn't do much good, did it?" Beth said dejectedly. "There's not a fantastic creature that's been discovered that Mr. Scamander doesn't know about." 

"Maybe Kettleburn --" Melissa began. 

"If Mr. Scamander doesn't know, Kettleburn sure won't," said Beth. "Trust me. Besides," she added, "we'd have to explain how we know it's a bird, and that would get messy." 

Melissa shrugged. "Mervin could just amend his memory. I hear he's good at that," she added wickedly. 

Hagrid had looked confused for days after the venture into the Forbidden Forest. 

By now both teams had gone off to get ready, and most of the school was starting to head out to the Quidditch pitch. It wasn't a bad day for it; now that April had come, the grass was soft and new, and the winter chill sometimes slipped away in the springtime sun. 

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to today's Quidditch match: Ravenclaw versus Slytherin!" crowed Lee Jordan from the press box. The players came out and started swooping around the field to thunderous cheers and, as always, muted boos and hisses from the Ravenclaw fans. A good three-fourths of the stadium sided with Ravenclaw on this one; unsurprisingly, Beth thought, since everyone had wanted to see Slytherin lose the Quidditch cup for the past seven years. 

Game play began at Madame Hooch's signal; the Quaffle went into play immediately while Draco rose above the crowd, scanning for the Snitch. 

Lee Jordan may have been dramatically biased against Slytherin, but he could really energize a game. 

"Ravenclaw's got the Quaffle ... passing around -- look at that formation! They're going to need it in the offensive, since their very attractive Seeker Cho Chang has been out all year with an injury ... now Ravenclaw Captain Roger Davies has it -- coming in on Slytherin Keeper Bruce Bletchley ... swerves ... little farther ... SCORE, Ravenclaw's up ten to nothing and Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint is not happy!" 

That was an understatement if Beth had ever heard one. Marcus looked ready to kill as Davies swooped by victoriously. 

"Back in play ... the Snitch nowhere to be found, but then the game's young ... that's Slytherin Uther Montague with the Quaffle now -- a Bludger nicks his broom but he's still going strong -- passes to Chaser Adrian Pucey -- here comes that Bludger again ... beat out of the way by Beater Bo Warrington ... wait a minute, can he do that? Foul, foul!" 

Warrington had smacked the Bludger in one moment and clobbered Roger Davies with his club in the next. 

Everyone landed and Marcus Flint stormed up to Madame Hooch, arguing heatedly. 

"This could take a while," sighed Melissa. She stopped watching and instead trained her binoculars on the castle looming across the grounds. 

Now Roger Davies was staggering up to the pair of them, gripping his upper arm. Marcus Flint pointed at him and bawled, "He's _faking_ it," loud enough that Beth could hear even from the stands. 

Melissa gripped Beth's arm. "Hey, look at this, will you?" Together they bent down to the binoculars and peered out at the castle. 

Kettleburn was strolling along the grounds with a dark-robed woman that Beth didn't recognize. "Someone's got a girlfriend in town," Beth grinned. 

"Watch closer," said Melissa, a frown evident in her voice. 

Beth looked through the binoculars at the pair. Soon it became evident what Melissa meant. They weren't laughing and chatting as a couple would have; they didn't even look grim, as if they were sharing each others' deep feelings or pain. Instead -- 

"They look like they're at a board meeting," said Beth in wonder. 

Melissa nodded, which jerked the binoculars around so much that Beth had to grab them with both hands. Now Kettleburn and the lady had stopped walking. They were near the Forbidden Forest now, and it was hard to tell them apart from the stationary trees. Melissa jiggled the focus a little to give them a better view. 

"That's a foul against Slytherin! Chaser Davies flies up to take the penalty shot --" Jordan called over the cheers and complaints of the crowd. Beth looked up in time to watch Bruce block the shot. 

"Good, Bruce needs that," she grinned. Melissa wasn't paying attention at all. Instead she still had her binoculars focused on Kettleburn. She started narrating what she was seeing, sounding just like Jordan. 

"They're talking. Now the lady is ... getting something out of her pocket ... it's a bag, or something ... Kettleburn has something too, a package, maybe ... the size of his arm ... they're handing them to each other, going to exchange them ..." 

"Slytherin scores, ten-ten!" cheered Lee Jordan. 

Beth whooped excitedly. Melissa looked up at her and scowled. 

"Aren't you paying attention? This could be important." 

"Sorry. What's he doing now?" 

"They're walking away." Melissa turned the binoculars back on the game. "Look, Little Puce just nailed one of the Chasers with a Bludger!" 

"That's two out of three!" Beth said cheerfully. 

It was turning into a violent game. Warrington got fouled again when he grabbed hold of the Ravenclaw Seeker's robes. Two of the Ravenclaw Chasers ganged up on Adrian Pucey and tried to force him into the stands. When all the penalty shots were made, Slytherin stood ahead thirty to ten. 

"Bruce really has his game on!" said Beth, jumping up and down. "Come on, Draco, just get the Snitch already!" 

Draco still hovered over the field, scouring for the Snitch. Luckily, the Ravenclaw Seeker wasn't having any better luck. 

"Now it's Ravenclaw with the Quaffle ... halfway up the field ... in scoring position ... INTERCEPTED by Slytherin Montague, and it's back to the other side of the field -- Montague to Flint -- another Slytherin score! Right now it's forty to ten, Slytherins ahead, and if Ravenclaw doesn't do something soon, Slytherin's going to be back in the running for the Quidditch Cup!" 

There were loud groans from most of the throng at this, but they were almost overwhelmed by the powerful rejoicing from the Slytherin section of the stands. 

Suddenly Draco whirled around and zoomed downfield, going into a deep dive. The Ravenclaw Seeker did a double take before taking off after him. Aaron and Warrington dove toward Draco, one on either side, looking around wildly for the Bludgers. 

"Ravenclaw Beater sends a Bludger to the Slytherin Seeker -- deflected by Slytherin Beater Warrington -- but it's coming back, going to be a duke-out -- Seeker Malfoy is after something, all right, leaving Ravenclaw in the dust -- that's the Nimbus 2-K-1 working for him --" 

The Bludger came around to the opposite side and went streaking toward Aaron, who easily batted it aside ... but as he did, the second Bludger came flying out of nowhere and slammed into the side of Aaron's head. He let go of his broomstick and dropped like a stone. 

The crowd rose to its feet in horror. Adrian Pucey turned on a dime and went soaring down to his brother, mouth open in a long, agonized shout. He forced the Nimbus faster and faster as Aaron hurtled to earth, unmoving. A few yards from the ground -- a few feet -- _inches_ -- 

Adrian threw himself from his broomstick and leapt onto the ground just in time to cushion his brother's fall. Aaron thudded onto Adrian's back and rolled off. He lay still in the middle of the field. Marcus Flint and Madame Hooch landed and rushed to his side -- 

"And it's Malfoy with the Snitch! The game is over, Slytherin wins one hundred and eighty to ten, and Slytherin pulls ahead in the running for the Quidditch cup!" 

There wasn't nearly as much cheering as there should have been. Instead, the Slytherin supporters poured onto the field, surrounding Adrian Pucey who now cradled his brother in his arms. Beth used her height to her advantage and pushed to the center of the circle. 

Aaron was obviously unconscious, but breathing, supported by a terrified-looking Adrian. There was an enormous bruise starting to form over one eye. To make things worse, his right arm was hanging oddly at his side. It was more than a break. 

"Smashed the shoulder to bits," Madame Hooch muttered, prodding at it carefully. "Tore some muscle, I shouldn't wonder. Good thing he's out cold -- the pain must be incredible." She looked at Adrian. "He'll never play again, with that arm." 

Adrian looked up at her; his eyes were white-ringed and wide. "I don't want him to," he whispered. 

***

Aaron didn't wake up that night; after a few days, it became obvious that he wasn't going to be waking up for a while. Madame Pomfrey wasn't worried. 

"Just needs a bit o' rest to clear up his brain," she assured Adrian, who was far from calm about it all. "Give 'im a week, maybe two, he'll come around right as rain. I'll take care of him til then, never fear." 

It wasn't easy, but eventually she convinced Adrian that sitting by the beside worrying would do no good. Instead he went back to the common room and fidgeted around until finally he settled down with a piece of parchment and a quill. 

"What are you doing?" Bruce asked politely. He was equally concerned for both of the Pucey boys. 

"Writing a letter to Draco's dad," said Adrian fervently. "If he hadn't gotten those Nimbus models -- if I'd been just a second slower --" 

He swallowed hard, and it was a moment before he could start writing again. 


	24. The Fourth Attack

**Chapter Twenty-Four: The Fourth Attack**

The Gryffindor/Hufflepuff Quidditch game came up quickly, and the Slytherins were surprised to find themselves on the side of the Hufflepuffs. If Gryffindor won, they might overtake Slytherin and win the Quidditch cup -- an unacceptable outrage, after the way they had snatched away the House Cup the year before. 

Beth saw something more unsettling in the situation. One of the Hufflepuff Chasers had been injured, and they were forced to fill the spot with an alternate. They chose Cedric Diggory. 

"Unbelievable," sighed Beth, watching the Quidditch teams leave to get ready for the game. "Diggory wasn't even on the team the first half of the year, and now he's a starting player." 

"The Transcongus Brew must have worked," said Melissa quietly. 

Beth felt a little sick at the thought. She pushed her plate away. "I don't want to see the game," she said unexpectedly. "I don't want to watch Diggory play and I don't want to watch Potter win another game in ten seconds. Let's go see Aaron instead. At least he earned his place on the team." 

"But he's still out cold," said Melissa slowly. "Anyway, we're not allowed in the infirmary without permission." 

"When's that ever stopped anyone?" asked Beth. 

So once the Great Hall had cleared out, they crept up the stairs to the hospital wing and snuck inside. Madame Pomfrey must have been at the Quidditch match; at any rate, she was nowhere in sight. Aaron lay in a bed near the door. He was the only patient that was still breathing; all the rest were the Heir's unmoving victims. 

"I can't believe he hasn't woken up yet," said Melissa in a small voice. 

They stood there silently, and Aaron did not move. Through his slow breathing they could hear a faint rhythmic tapping, which grew gradually into shuffling footsteps. 

Beth looked up fearfully. "Oh no, we'll be caught!" 

"Come on, behind the curtain." Melissa grabbed Beth and yanked her closer to the side of the bed before wrenching closed the curtains around Aaron's bed. The footsteps grew louder. Beth held her breath. 

Into the infirmary ... up to the curtained bed ... and past. The footsteps went down the length of the room and stopped a few beds away from Aaron's. A grizzled voice let out a long sigh. 

"Ah, my dear, still stone. Damn lonely without you." 

It was Filch. "Here to see that awful cat," said Melissa, leaning up to the curtains so she could hear better. 

Filch went on, speaking more tenderly than Beth had even thought possible. "It's trickier without ye, too. Students skirting about, there's only me now, I'm not the scout that you are. I'm takin' that course like ye wanted. Maybe by the time yer -- cured -- I'll have some magic tricks to show you." There was a short choke that was almost like a sob. "I'll be the best son I can be. Always tried. You know that, mother." 

Melissa let out a little hiccup of disbelief. Filch stopped talking abruptly. 

"Oh no," Beth said softly. 

The curtains were wrenched open and Argus Filch's ugly face loomed between them. Beth and Melissa pulled back a bit. The caretaker gave a snarl. 

"Did -- you -- hear?" 

"No," said Beth, alarmed, as Melissa blurted, "Hear what?" 

Filch's lips contorted in rage -- but just then, the doors to the infirmary burst open and someone backed inside, carrying something in both arms. As he came in, Beth realized that it was Professor Snape -- and then she realized what he was carrying. 

"That's Penny Clearwater," Beth breathed. 

Snape had the frozen girl by the ankles. At the other end, Riggs supported her under the shoulders. Spotting them, he gasped out, "Give us a hand," before he and Snape laid her on an empty bed. 

"Professor, these two were trespassin' --" Filch began, but Professor Snape interrupted sharply: 

"Get out of the way, Argus! There's another one coming in." 

Professors Sinistra and Vector came in, bearing another stiffened girl between them. They laid her alongside the first. 

"Well," said Professor Snape softly, looking down at the Petrified girl, "Miss Granger has finally snooped too far, hasn't she?" Only then did Beth recognize the girl as the second-year who hung out with Potter, who had mixed the Polyjuice potion, who had last year braved the forbidden third-floor corridor. 

Melissa stared at the two girls. "Where ... were they?" 

"Outside the library," said Riggs. His voice was proud, but Beth saw that his hands were shaking badly. "I found them." 

"Good thing that," said Professor Vector briskly. "Otherwise th' other students would ha' come in from the game an' -- woo!" She raised her hands in the air. 

Filch tried again. "These two was snoopin' aroun' --" 

"Mr. Filch, this is no time for petty accusations," Snape snapped. "Mr. Riggs, take these two back to the common room. The rest of the student body will be joining them shortly, once Professor McGonagall has put a stop to the Quidditch match. I will be along to explain the situation as soon as Headmaster Dumbledore has decided on action to be taken." 

Filch's lip twisted into a snarl. Taking their cue, Beth and Melissa hurried out the door, dragging Riggs behind them. 

"We were just going to see Aaron," explained Beth, as they went down the hall. "He was there to see his cat, and caught us." 

Riggs pursed his lips. "You know the infirmary is off-limits. I'll let you off this time, but --" 

"Oh, thanks!" gushed Melissa, and she leaned up and pecked him on the cheek. 

Riggs flushed a brilliant red and cleared his throat a lot of times. "Get in there," he said gruffly, when they reached the common room. "I'll be along in a moment. Lapis lazuli," he added, and the door slid open. Beth and Melissa ducked inside, leaving Riggs outside madly polishing his spectacles, his cheeks still a blazing red. 

It wasn't long before Riggs came back into the common room, waving his hands for quiet, and described the latest attack. He had to stand on a table to get the attention of the gabbing mob; his hair was a mess and his spectacles were crooked on his long nose. Beth and Melissa knew all about what had happened, of course, but they weren't expecting what would follow. 

"Absolutely no one leaves the dormitories after dark, orders from Dumbledore." He was looking right at Richard as he said it. "You're going to be escorted between classes." 

Loud complaints rose up; Riggs tried to shout over them. "Prefects and teachers are going to be scouting the halls -- we're all very concerned about your safety and we're all doing the best we can. Please -- just cooperate." Beth was astounded to see that he looked badly shaken, and his voice was little less than frantic. He got down from the table and fought his way back outside. 

Melissa turned to Beth. "I still say we're not in danger," she said, although her face was worried. "We're Slytherin's own. He wouldn't attack a Slytherin, or a pureblood. Right?" 

"I'm not a pureblood," said Beth dismally. 

Melissa had nothing to say to that. 

They found Bruce in the back of the room. He looked just as concerned as everyone else. Seeing him, Beth suddenly remembered what they had heard just before the attack. So did Melissa. 

"You're never going to believe it!" Melissa bubbled, glancing around secretively. "Mrs. Norris is Filch's _mother!_" 

"_Really?_" 

Melissa nodded in delight. "Gruesome, isn't it?" 

Bruce thought about it. "'Spect it was to help him along with the job," he said calmly. "Being a bit disadvantaged, and all." 

Beth cocked her head. "Disadvantaged?" 

"Yeah, he's a Squib, didn't you know?" 

Melissa sniggered, but Beth shook her head. "I don't even know what that means." 

"Honestly!" snorted Melissa. "And you call yourself well-traveled. A Squib is somebody born into a wizard family but doesn't have any magic powers, like a backwards mudblood. No offense," she added hastily, at Beth's glare. "Filch's parents must have been wizards, but he's not. Should have known. I bet his mother turned herself into a cat for good to give him a hand with it." 

"That must be awful," said Beth thoughtfully. "You wouldn't fit in with Muggles, because you're raised like a wizard, but you don't fit in with wizards since you can't do magic. I don't know what I'd do." 

"Well -- you wouldn't have that problem anyway -- one of each for parents --" Melissa said awkwardly. 

"I'd run off and change my name," said Bruce. "Start over like a Muggle so nobody'd know I ought to be something else." 

"You can take special classes for it," said Melissa. "They have these programs, remedial like. I'll bet that's what Filch meant, that he was taking some class that she wanted him to." 

"He sounded really upset," said Beth, and her voice echoed some of the wistful loneliness of Filch as he stared on his near-dead mother. She looked up at the other two. "Let's make this one of those secrets that we don't tell anyone -- okay?" 

And although neither Melissa nor Bruce said anything, Beth knew that they would. 

***

Aaron came out of his coma that night -- presumably from all the commotion in the infirmary -- and came downstairs the morning after, his entire right arm in a cast and a shoulder splint. He was greeted first with wild cheers and secondly the story of what he had missed while he was out cold. 

"I saw the two before I left," he said solemnly. "You couldn't tell they were alive." 

"You looked the same," said Adrian Pucey in a strangled voice. 

Just then Professor Snape came to lead them all to breakfast. They arrived to a Great Hall full of chaos. 

"What's going on?" said Beth irritably, sitting down. "What's everyone so excited about?" 

"Look," said Bruce, pointing to the head table. Professor McGonagall stood in Dumbledore's usual spot, trying to get the attention of the students. Finally she put her fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. The babbling ceased as everyone turned to look at her. 

"Thank you." She surveyed the room grimly. "As many of you already know, our gamekeeper Reubus Hagrid has been taken into custody by the Ministry of Magic for questioning about these attacks." The room erupted into clamor again and she had to struggle for several more minutes to regain their attention. At last silence fell. "Also, Professor Dumbledore has been temporarily removed as headmaster. I will be serving his duties until he returns --" Now she had to shout to make herself heard. " --so it is vital that you obey your heads of house and the new restrictions. It is for the safety of us all." Giving up, she sat back down. 

Food appeared on the tables, but no one seemed like they wanted to eat. 

"Hagrid!" said Melissa disdainfully. "Of course he's not the Heir! He's not even a Slytherin! Even after --" She broke off with a somewhat guilty look. The news that Hagrid had been blamed fifty years ago had not yet leaked to the student body. 

"What about Dumbledore?" demanded Aaron Pucey. "What's he done?" 

"Hasn't stopped the attacks," Bruce guessed. 

"What rot," Aaron grumbled. "I'd take him over McGonagall any day. She's got it in for us, she has." 

"It's about time Dumbledore stepped down," said Draco Malfoy. He had come to sit with Bruce and Aaron; his two hulking friends were nearby. "The Board of Governors knew it, too. My father had to help persuade a few of the old-timers, but in the end they unanimously voted him out." He looked inordinately proud. "Once you've been around too long, you begin to lose your touch, you know." 

"But McGonagall," Aaron said painfully, looking over his shoulder at the head table. "Why couldn't it have been Snape? Or one of the Governors? Your father was a Slytherin, he could do it, right, Draco?" 

"Why," said Draco Malfoy, smiling broadly, "I suppose he could." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Tune in tomorrow for the exciting conclusion! 


	25. Kettleburn

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Kettleburn**

It was incredible how much one days' events could change life at Hogwarts. There were teachers prowling the halls at all hours, and everyone had to be escorted to class. With Hagrid gone, Filch took over the duties of gamekeeper as well as his own job of caretaker; consequently he went from irritating to insufferable, clomping around griping about his extra workload and screaming at students for crimes like sneezing. 

"Bitter old geezer," grumbled Melissa, after he yelled at her for talking too loudly in the halls. 

"Be nice, you know why he's so upset," said Beth. They were going through the corridors single-file behind Professor Flitwick, on their way to Charms. It was always bad luck to be led by Professor Flitwick; his legs were so short that they never made very good time. 

Kettleburn met them at the door of his classroom. "Thanks, Flitwick, I've got 'em now," he barked. 

Flitwick, half the height of Kettleburn, looked up and gave a sharp nod before toddling away to his own classroom. 

The Gryffindors were already in class. The low buzz of cheerful chatter took on a familiar ominous sound as the Slytherins came in and went to their seats. Kettleburn stalked to the front. 

"Hippogriffs!" he barked. "Half horse, half eagle, lots of ego, plenty of brains. You don't mess with a hippogriff. Just ask the wizard Id Fracturus, whose pet hippogriff left him at the top of a tree for four days after old Id called him a birdbrain. Come on now, quills out." 

They started taking notes on hippogriffs. Beth had thought that they would be interesting to study -- Mr. Scamander had one in his backyard -- but it turned out that she was wrong. 

Mervin was doodling winged horses in the margins of his notes. Suddenly he sat upright. There was some new intelligence blazing in his eyes. Beth could practically see the light bulb go on over his head. 

"Fletcher!" 

Mervin shook his head abruptly. "Huh?" 

"You know the answer, Fletcher?" Kettleburn barked again. 

"Sir, I don't even know the question," Mervin answered truthfully. "Just -- remembered something, that's all." 

The Gryffindors snickered. 

"All right, maybe someone else can tell me the best way to approach a hippogriff," growled Kettleburn. "Spinnet?" 

"You have to bow to them," said Alicia Spinnet, giving Mervin a superior look. 

"Well done, a point for Gryffindor," boomed Kettleburn. "Got to show a hippogriff some respect, you do. He'll only let you near if you look like you're part afraid of him an' part in love with 'im. Hippogriffs originated ..." 

Beth meant to ask Mervin what he had thought of, but when they lined up to be escorted out of class, Mervin hung back at the very end of the line. Now his expression was one of deep brooding. Halfway down the hall, he peeled off from the group and headed in the direction of the library. 

That's where Beth, Bruce and Melissa found him an hour later: sitting in the library, surrounded by thick books that lay scattered and open on the table around him. Melissa approached him tentatively. 

"Mervin? What did you find?" 

Mervin looked up at them. His eyes were a little bit fevered. "I don't believe it -- didn't think of it before this -- all that time wasted --" 

"What?" demanded Beth. 

"My family breeds winged horses. I should have been the first one to realize that _just having feathers doesn't make it a bird_." 

Bruce looked puzzled. Then his face cleared into astonishment. "The monster! The feather --" 

"Has to be from something else that has feathers, not just a bird!" Melissa chirped excitedly. 

"No wonder Mr. Scamander didn't know what it was from -- it's not a bird, it's a -- hippogriff, or something else --" Beth stammered. 

Mervin buried his nose back in the book. "Now we've got to find out what it is, especially after these last two attacks ... come on, help me with this." He thrust a copy of Mechanics of Modern Cryptozoology into Beth's hands. "What are you waiting for?" 

They sat in the library all afternoon, going through book after book looking for creatures with both the power to Petrify and feathers. Some, like the Gorgon, could turn people to stone but were featherless; others, like winged horses, had feathers but no special powers. At seven o'clock Melissa gave up and went to go take a walk with Galen Melhorn. (Beth hadn't been keeping track of their relationship, but she assumed they were on good terms again.) An hour after that, Mervin fell asleep inside The Monster Book of Monsters, awoke when the textbook tried to eat his face, and went back to the common room in disgust. Beth and Bruce stayed, picking through old bestiaries. 

"I've seen this one before," said Bruce, rubbing his eyes. "When we were looking for the magical properties of chickens. This has a great section about the cockatrice." He flipped through the pages. 

"Does it have feathers and freeze people?" asked Beth tiredly. "'Cause if it doesn't, I don't care." 

"It's got feathers," yawned Bruce. "Red ones, actually. The male's got them on its head. But it kills people with its gaze. No simple Petrification here." He flipped the page. "Want to hear a story?" 

Beth yawned too. "Okay." 

"'An ancient wizard went to battle a basilisk, to save a maiden from its coils'," Bruce read. "Basilisk, that's the same as a cockatrice. 'With him he took his sword and shield. The shield was polished brightly so that the basilisk would die if it saw itself. He wore a glass helmet on his head, so that if he saw the the basilisk through it, he would not die, he would simply --'" 

Bruce stopped reading. His jaw dropped. 

"What?" Beth demanded lazily. 

Bruce swallowed. "He would simply turn to stone," he whispered. 

For a second Beth didn't realize what he had said. Then she gradually sat up and stared at him. 

"That firstie ... saw it through a camera lens," she said slowly. 

Bruce stood up suddenly. "This is it. We've got it. We've -- got to tell somebody!" 

Beth stood up alongside him. "Dumbledore's gone, who else would believe us?" 

"Not McGonagall, that's for bloody sure." Bruce thought hard. "The one teacher who would know how to handle a basilisk: we've got to get to Kettleburn." 

They burst out of the library and took off down the hall. What this discovery would mean for Hogwarts ... for the students ... for Slytherin ... Beth's heart pounded. The mystery was solved -- 

Right at the door of Kettleburn's office, Bruce drew to a halt suddenly. He laid a finger to his lips and cocked his head towards the door. Inside, someone was having a conversation. Silently, they sank back against the wall, out of sight, but just able to hear. 

"You don't understand, I've gotta lay low here," a gravelly voice growled. "Security's up." 

_Kettleburn_, mouthed Bruce. Beth nodded silently. 

"That has not been a problem all year," another voice said quietly. It was ominously soft, and slightly indistinct. 

"Things are different," said Kettleburn. He sounded anxious. "Everyone's prowlin' around. I can't get caught again." 

"I thought you said you were too ... how did you put it? ... "slick" to get caught," the soft voice said. 

Kettleburn grumbled something indistinguishable. 

The soft voice laughed. "But of course. Yes, losing a hand would be a deterrent, wouldn't it?" It took on an edge that it didn't have before. "Listen to me, Kettleburn. You've come too far in this to let me down now. You'll carry this through to the end. Otherwise, someday you may find yourself in Knockturn Alley, having your other hand served to you on a silver tray ..." 

Beth's jaw dropped open in horror. 

Kettleburn said something else under his breath, and the stranger laughed again. "Just one more time, you can handle that, can't you?" 

Kettleburn's voice rose angrily. "... are difficult enough, but with a beast like that --" 

"A beast, he means the basilisk!" whispered Bruce fearfully. 

There was a long silence. Then: "Did you hear that?" There came a scraping noise, and footsteps. Kettleburn was coming to the door. 

Beth looked around wildly. There was nowhere to hide. In that case, there was only one thing to do ... 

"I can't believe she took him back!" Beth babbled loudly, grabbing Bruce and dragging him into the middle of the hall. "After all that." 

"Uh -- uh, yeah," said Bruce, matching her volume. There was a faint terror in his face. "After that, and all. Yeah." 

"And he's not even that good-looking ..." Beth went on. She turned to the doorway, where Kettleburn had suddenly appeared. "Oh hi, Professor. We had a question for class. Mind if we come in?" 

Kettleburn's eyes were narrowed in suspicion. "Shouldn't you two have a chaperone?" he barked. "Dangerous to be goin' around the halls alone." 

"Oh ... well ..." started Beth. 

Bruce jumped in. "Since we were coming to see a teacher, Professor Snape reckoned we could make it on our own. There are two of us, and it's not too far from our common room to here." 

A little of the suspicion left Kettleburn's face, but not much. "Hmm. All right then, come on in, but make it quick -- I was having a conversation." 

Both of them tried very hard to look surprised. 

They followed Kettleburn into his classroom. There was no one else there. "I -- thought you were having a conversation," said Beth, throwing caution to the wind. 

"Through the fire," said Kettleburn gruffly, and indeed, there was a pile of blue ash in the fireplace. "What d'you need?" 

"Oh." Beth opened her mouth. "Uh -- on the final essay." 

"Right," said Bruce, giving her a glance. "I'm doing it on werewolves. I read that you could tell a werewolf because their index finger is longer than their middle finger." 

"Muggle myth," said Kettleburn immediately. "Don't know how they came up with that one myself. Don't put it in your essay, it's not true." 

Bruce nodded curtly. "All right. Thanks." 

"That all?" 

They nodded. 

Kettleburn got his suspicious look again. "Well ..." he said slowly. "Guess that's it then. You best be getting back to your dorms. Dangerous these days." His eyes glinted a little. 

"Uh -- okay," said Beth. "Thanks." 

She and Bruce left as casually as they could, and then took off down the hall to the common room. 

***

They darted into the common room and slammed the door behind them, panting for breath. 

"I don't believe it," said Beth, as soon as she caught her breath. "It's him. Kettleburn's the Heir of Slytherin." 

"We even knew he's been sneaking around all semester!" cursed Bruce. They went to sit down at one of the small tables. "First Hogsmeade, then the Quidditch match. And how he was meeting with Quirrell in secret last year. I bet they were in it together then, and now he's the only one left." 

"We've got to go tell Dumble -- oh," said Beth. Her face fell. "McGonagall's in charge now." 

Bruce let out a groan of frustration. "Dumbledore would have believed us. Why isn't he ever _here_ when this kind of thing happens?" 

"Well," said Beth staunchly, "if we can't tell Dumbledore, we can at least do the next best thing." 

***

"Kettleburn?" Richard's face was alight with excitement. 

"We _heard_ him," said Bruce. "I always knew there was something tricky about him." They were in the library; the rows of books loomed over them oppressively. Beth felt a little claustrophobic. 

Riggs was there too, with enormous books spread out in all directions on the table. He didn't look nearly as thrilled as Richard. "What exactly did you hear?" 

Quickly, Bruce described the conversation they'd witnessed. Then he mentioned how he, Beth, and Mervin had heard Kettleburn and Quirrell meeting in the Shrieking Shack the year before. As he talked, Riggs' expression went from disbelief to -- almost -- hope. 

"We've got to tail him," Riggs said, as soon as Bruce was finished talking. "All of us. We have to watch him every minute." 

"You're that sure?" asked Richard. 

Riggs looked up at him. "The stakes are too high now for anything but the most drastic action." 

***

Tailing Kettleburn turned out to be a lot harder than anyone thought. For one thing, being led all over the halls by teachers made it hard to go anywhere, let alone in secret. For another, he was never doing anything suspicious. Either he was outside tending the hippogriffs he had brought in for demonstration, or he was among the teachers, talking intently and acting perfectly normal. 

"He knows we're on to him," said Beth, as she came to dinner after an hour of watching Kettleburn flirt with Madame Hooch. "He hasn't done a single wrong thing since we started watching him. You know what I think, I think it's a red herring --" 

Melissa had been reading a letter; now she crumpled it in her hand. 

"Are you all right?" 

Melissa's lip curled. "What's it matter, I'm just a girl." 

Beth looked at the letter in Melissa's hand. She looked back up at her friend. "Come on, this has gone on all year. Something's really wrong." 

"Nothing," she grumbled. "Nothing at all. It's just --" 

Beth waited silently. When the food appeared, she helped herself to pickled cod and started eating. Suddenly Melissa exploded angrily. 

"It's not nothing, it's just not fair -- I mean, how could they think that way, so -- archaic and insulting --" She pounded the table and covered her face with their hands. "How could they?" 

"They?" Beth asked tentatively. 

Melissa put her hands down and took a breath. "My parents. They -- well, let me start like this. Ollivanders has been making wands for almost twenty-four hundred years. That's a long time. And it's a very well-known name. The name is everything. The name's the most important part of the business --" 

"Uh ... right," said Beth, chewing her cod slowly. 

"But it's not!" Melissa slammed both fists down onto the table again. "My parents think it is, but they're wrong! And it makes me so mad --" 

Beth bit her lip. "I don't understand," she said quietly. 

"The important thing is to keep the Ollivander name, you see? And I'm a girl -- weak female -- probably going to get married -- and I'm not going to keep the name, so I don't get to inherit the company. I always thought I might by default, I'm the only one in my generation, or at least I always have been." She took a breath. "Then my parents go and spoil it." 

"How?" 

"They had a baby boy." 

Beth's jaw dropped. "You never said your mother was even pregnant!" 

"I didn't want her to be," Melissa said miserably. "You should have heard them. 'Oh, if it's a boy, it's going to be so wonderful, we can pass on the family business to our son!' Never mind their daughter." She looked bitterly disappointed, and Beth suddenly realized what had driven her all year -- being denied her ambition because of her gender must have been enormously frustrating, even more for a Slytherin. 

"So ... what's the letter say?" 

Melissa sighed and looked down at the crumpled note. "Just that my brother's doing fine and starting to talk. I don't know, I just don't want to hear about it." 

There was a pause. Then Beth looked up and gave her friend a tentative smile. 

"It's going to be neat having a brother," she said carefully. "Heaven knows I wish I had mine. And just because he gets to own the wandmaker's, doesn't mean that he's anything important. He'll need his big sister to do all the work. Just look at how much your Mom does for the business, and she's not even an Ollivander except by marriage." 

"I know." Melissa let out a long sigh again. "I know. Thanks. That helps." 

Richard came up to them; his face was aglow. "Guess what I just heard," he gushed. 

They looked up at him expectantly. 

"McGonagall was talking to Snape in the halls," he said, beaming. "I guess Dumbledore was so impressed at how Riggs is handling this whole attack thing that he wanted to make him Head Boy -- isn't that fantastic?" 

"Awesome!" squealed Beth. "He's got the grades, and his O.W.L.s were like off the chart!" 

Melissa frowned. "Is he still going to get it, now that McGonagall's in charge?" 

Richard looked a little nonplussed. "She can't overturn that kind of decision. Besides, he'll be back by next year -- wait and see." 

"I sure hope so," said Beth fervently, looking over her shoulder at the Head Table and the place where Dumbledore should be. 

***

They tracked Kettleburn constantly as summer drew near. On the day that Professor McGonagall announced that the mandrakes were finally mature enough to revive the Petrified students, he cheered as hard as anyone else in the hall -- harder than Draco Malfoy, in fact, who looked highly put out. Beth knew full well that he had been enjoying class without Granger and had been hoping it would continue through exams. 

That day the sun seemed to shine brightly again; classmates of the frozen students were eager to see them back, and the halls almost seemed like normal -- except for the way they still had to follow the teachers around. Even they seemed to be a little more lax, because Professor Flitwick let them go one hallway early, and Professor Lockhart never showed up for his duty at all. The Slytherins all went in a group anyway, but it was nice to go through the halls without listening to Lockhart's blather. 

On the way to Alchemy, Beth felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Herne. 

"_Guess_ what I found out about Kettleburn," he whispered excitedly, once Beth had gotten away from the group. "He's not the Heir at all." 

Beth stared at him. "Are you sure? After all we heard ..." 

"Sure." Herne looked thrilled. "I finally caught him last night. I've told almost everyone else. Rich is going to tell McGonagall about it first thing tomorrow. He's really --" 

"Hush," said Beth. Professor McGonagall's voice, magically magnified, echoed through the corridors. 

"_All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please._" 

They joined the sudden rush of students to return to their common rooms. Soon they were in a group of only Slytherins, bustling toward their underground dormitory. Draco Malfoy looked desperately excited. 

The common room was already full, with the clamor that had come to be commonplace. Beth pushed her way through the mob. She had completely lost Herne, and it was hard to see very far in the thick crowd. She was looking around for her friends when Richard slunk to her side and bent down to her ear. 

"What happened?" she whispered. 

"A girl got taken into the Chamber of Secrets. Right in. There's a note, it says her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever." His voice shook. "We should have told McGonagall weeks ago. Can't believe how stupid I was --" 

"Who is it?" 

"Not one of us. Gryffindor. Go to the Vase Room." His voice was low, and there was something like panic in it. "We'll group there and then split up. Dell's got to take a group into the Chamber and someone else has to warn the teachers that it's a basilisk." 

"McGonagall's never going to believe us!" Beth whispered back. 

"Then the blood's on her hands." Richard looked fierce, or fiercely worried. "We're leaving one by one. You go in a few minutes. Be discreet." He moved away, and Beth felt her heartbeat speed up again. 

They were going into the Chamber of Secrets? To take on a basilisk? Beth's heart suddenly plummeted. Eleven students against one unknown Heir was one thing -- but trying to fight a basilisk was quite another. She had visions of them all standing around in the Chamber of Secrets with the statue of Ulysses Donner, frozen into eleven more dead stone statues, faces gaping in horror. 

Someone brushed past her and she nearly jumped out of her shoes. 

It was just a random student trying to get to her friends. "It was a Gryffindor," she told them in a hushed voice. "A first-year ..." 

A few minutes had to have passed by now. Beth slunk to the doorway and lingered near it before darting into the corridor, praying that no one had seen her go. 

She bolted down the corridor toward the Vase Room. Any moment now, someone was certain to step out and ask where she was going, order her back. Miraculously, no one did: the teachers must have been securing their own students before they went to search for the lost one. She screeched to a halt in front of the blank wall that hid the S.S.A. headquarters and gasped out the password. A door appeared in the solid stone. 

She darted into the Vase Room and shut the door behind her. She started forward. Then she stopped dead where she was; her jaw dropped open; she stared into the room. 

Vivian was on the ground, struggling against a rope knotted around her chest and legs. There was a swath of cloth around her mouth. 

Melissa was trussed up the same way, her eyes wide and afraid. 

Beside her lay Mervin, caught in a Full-Body Bind. 

And Evan Wilkes was tying a red-haired girl to a chair. 


	26. The Faithful Servant

**Chapter Twenty-Six: The Faithful Servant**

Beth stared at the scene before her, trying to make sense of it. This was very wrong. It was unthinkable. "Evan -- what --" 

Evan finished tying the girl off and looked up at Beth with shadowed eyes. "Get in here," he ordered. She took a step back instead. "Come _on_," he said irritably. 

"What have you _done?_" she finally managed. 

Evan had his wand out and was suddenly pointing it at her head. "I said, get in here, and I'll explain," he growled. His limp, dark hair fell in his face. He looked wild, frightening. Shaking, Beth started slowly towards him. Very carefully, she casually reached into her pocket for her wand. 

"_Expelliarmus!_" 

The wand flew out of Beth's hand and landed across the room. Evan glared at her. 

The door went open with a bang, and Daedalus, Uther and Bruce all came in. "Get out, it's a trap!" Beth cried, throwing caution to the wind, just as Evan shouted, "Hurry up and get inside, I have to --" 

He wasn't able to finish his sentence, because the boys had already seen what was going on. They rushed him as a group. He was only able to freeze Bruce before Uther had him pinned to the wall and Daedalus was tearing the wand out of his hand. 

"What do you think you're doing?" snarled Uther, his hands at Evan's throat. 

"Get your hands off me and I'll tell you," Evan choked out. 

"Beth, help me untie them," said Daedalus. 

Evan struggled against Uther's grip. "_No!_ Don't let the girl get away!" 

By then Beth was tugging at the ropes that held Melissa. They must have been magical; she couldn't move them. 

"Help me," begged the girl tied to the chair. She could have only been eleven, and was obviously terrified. "Let me go ..." 

"_Don't listen to her!_" shouted Evan. 

Richard and Riggs burst in. They stopped dead as they realized the extent of the chaos around them. 

"Ginny Weasley!" gasped Riggs. All the color had drained out of his face. "What -- what is she doing -- tied up?" 

"Let me go," Ginny Weasley begged again, writhing in her chair. 

"_It's Evan!_" bellowed Uther, tightening his grip on the boy's neck. "It was him all along! He's the Heir of Slytherin!" 

"No," gasped Evan, pulling desperately at Uther's clenched hands. "_It's her_." 

Ginny Weasley started to laugh. 

There was something very wrong about the way she threw her head back and laughed, eyes glinting madly, a dark passion in her face that somehow twisted beyond that of an eleven-year old girl. Her thin body shook with the force of the laughing. Then she lurched against the ropes -- her head flew backward before sinking to her chest -- and she fell deathly still. 

There was a terrible silence. 

"You'd better let him go," said a voice. "He was right, you know." 

Behind the Ledger stood a boy that Beth had never seen before. He was tall, possibly as old as Daedalus, with neat black hair. He was very handsome. As Beth looked, she started to realize that his outline was a little fuzzy ... he was a bit blurry around the edges, like a half-ghost. He was also holding her wand in his hand, and there was a S.S.A. ring on his finger. 

The boy smiled. "Well," he said, "he was almost right." 

Richard came forward. There was a look of awe on his face. "You're -- you're --" 

"Yes." The boy bowed at the waist. "Tom Riddle. It's good to be back." 

Richard turned to Uther. "Let him go, then!" Bewildered, Uther released Evan, who slid to the floor. He turned back to Tom Riddle, who still stood fingering Beth's wand. "You've come to help us. We'll do whatever you need. _Gloria serpens_," he finished fervently. 

"I'm afraid I disbelieve you," said Tom Riddle, a little sadly. "Most of you have been nothing but a hindrance to my entire quest." 

Richard looked crushed. He rallied himself and went on, "But now that we know you're here -- you can help us close the Chamber of Secrets -- you did it before --" 

Tom Riddle let out a short, mirthless laugh. "The Chamber of Secrets. I remember that period in my life very well. It was a time of fear for the students; and after a girl was found dead, well -- the headmaster would believe any story to usher away the past. I wonder, did any of you find out what is hidden in the Chamber of Secrets?" 

"Yes," said Richard eagerly. "A basilisk -- it took us nearly all year --" 

"I expected as much," said Tom Riddle. "I was careful to record everything for the Society." He gestured to the Ledger. "Everything," he repeated. 

Beth looked back at the girl tied to the chair. She still sat there like a rag doll, head bowed impossibly low. Riggs stood near her, his face white. The other members looked just as stunned; no one moved except Evan, rubbing his neck. 

"I would have expected the Society to continue my goals," Tom Riddle said, twirling Beth's wand in his fingers idly. "It was, after all, my creation. But somewhere along the way there was a ... division. Different ideas that I didn't anticipate. My legacy was not passed on. That was my mistake: entrusting the greatest of Hogwarts' secrets to those who would not use them correctly." 

"Like who's the Heir of Slytherin," Richard said eagerly. 

"My dear boy," said Tom Riddle, "_I_ am the Heir of Slytherin." 

Richard reeled back. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly. "But you -- you closed the Chamber --" 

Tom waved dismissingly. "How could I close it unless I had first opened it? Fifty years ago when the girl died it became too dangerous to carry on. I locked up the basilisk --" 

"You?" choked Richard. 

"Yes, I. Please stop blathering, you claim to be one of the elite." Richard winced. "The basilisk was the perfect weapon. Only Salazar Slytherin's true heir could control it, do you see? He was brilliant." His smile broadened. "But he never attained immortality. I did." 

Uther and Daedalus were starting to shake loose from their surprise. They began to move towards the foggy image of Tom Riddle. 

"Don't move." Tom's voice became sharp suddenly. 

Richard was still fighting back shock. "But how did you -- why did you --" 

"How did I come to be here, when the Tom Riddle of the Ledger is dead and gone? My old associates could have told you. I believe you met most of them after Baltus Gatherum died. The blood of Slytherin himself runs in my veins -- a great honor and a great responsibility, to carry on his ideals. I tried to do his work and eliminate the tainted blood from Hogwarts. But I attained to something more. I wanted to live forever. 

"I started by preserving myself at sixteen -- the person you see now -- in a diary. It was a good start, but I knew that I would need to delve deeper. I did, and it worked. I should have died twelve years ago -- but I didn't. I lost my body but not my being. And I live now, twice: a shade of what I was, and a shade of what I am." 

Beth couldn't understand what he was saying. There was something that he wasn't saying, some underlying truth that they did not know. 

"What ... what are you?" said Richard, his voice shaking. 

"I am the once and future ruler of wizardkind. I am Lord Voldemort." 

At first Beth hardly realized what he had said. Then the cloud in her mind started to lift ... she felt her mouth fall open dumbly ... she wondered if she was going to scream ... 

Tom Riddle started to shimmer and fade. His voice grew thinner. "But now I have work to be done; I can't have my own Society interfering." He pointed his finger around at them as if counting. "All ten are here; that's good. And it was so kind of your young black-haired friend to tie up some of you already -- Wilkes, if I'm not mistaken." 

"They were trying to let the girl loose," Evan spat hoarsely. 

Riddle laughed unconcernedly. "I remember your father -- one of my favorites," he said offhandedly to Evan. Then he looked back at Richard. "You'll be so kind as to stay here, out of the way, until my mission is fulfilled. I'm sure you'll hear about it when it's over. The death of Harry Potter is going to go in the history books." He was fading faster, both his image and sound. "If you aren't willing to cooperate, I'm sure my newest loyal servant will help you see the light. Gloria serpens ..." 

And he vanished completely, letting Beth's wand clatter to the ground. 

Dumb silence. Then Uther blurted: "Where'd he go?" 

There was a rustling from behind. Beth whirled around just in time to see the red-headed girl run out the door. 

Standing beside the empty chair, cut ropes in his hand, was Riggs. 

Evan stumbled to his feet. "He's possessed her! Go get her!" he cried hoarsely. "She's going to go to the Chamber -- she's going to die! Don't just stand there!" 

Riggs dropped the rope and took out his wand. 

"He's getting away! We have to stop him!" 

"_Omniphera paribus_," Riggs said, "_accio wand_." 

Nine wands flew through the air: Beth's from the ground and others from robes or hands. Riggs caught them in a bundle above his head and stuffed them in his pocket. He was breathing heavily. His glasses had slipped down his long nose again, and his hair was in disarray. Very deliberately, he went to Vivian and dragged her upright. Then he put his wand to her neck. 

"Now," he said quietly, "we're all going to do exactly as my master says, and stay here -- or Vivian is going to die." 

***

There was a stunned silence. 

Then Daedalus started forward. "You dirty traitor -- I'll kill you --" 

Riggs pressed his wand harder into Vivian's neck. "_Avada_ --" he began. Daedalus stopped as if he had run into a wall. Riggs relaxed. "That's better. No one comes any closer. Especially you," he added, looking at Mervin laying Body-Bound on the floor, and let out a sudden stream of half-maniacal laughter. There was something in his eyes that Beth had never seen before. "Everybody can just have a seat." 

No one moved. 

"_Sit down!_" 

Shaking, Beth sat on the nearest low couch and everyone else did the same. Richard remained standing. 

"Riggs, what are you doing?" he begged. 

"It's _Randall!_" Riggs spat. His brown hair fell into his face. "No one ever calls me by my first name! My name is Randall!" 

Richard looked completely nonplussed. He held out his hands tentatively. "All right ... Randall ... let her go and I swear no one will leave." 

"I like her right here." Vivian let out a muffled whimper. 

Richard took a deep breath. "Why are you doing this?" 

Riggs laughed again; it chilled Beth's bones. "Gloria serpens, old boy. To the glory of the snake. There might be a few Petrifications, maybe even some deaths if we're lucky, but Slytherin has never gotten the respect it deserves until now." 

"But --" Richard stammered. "You're helping the Dark Lord!" 

"Helping him to bring back the rule of Slytherins everywhere." 

Richard just stood and stared at him for several tense seconds. He seemed to be at a loss for words. Then he managed, "How long ... have you known?" 

Giving a superior smile, Riggs pulled Vivian over to the abandoned chair and forced her down into it. "Quite a few months now," he said casually, using his wand to tie her to the chair. "Rothbard told me that Tom Riddle was the Heir of Slytherin, but he wouldn't say any more. It was Ebenezer Nott who helped me along. Dropping hints until I figured it all out ... showing me what good had come of the Dark Lord's reign ... 

"Of course," he added, putting his wand back to Vivian's throat, "to be any use to my master I had to discover whose body the Dark Lord had possessed. He's weak, you see -- he needs someone to draw power from. Melissa's tea reading helped with that. 'A riddle possessing a red-haired weasel'," he recited, and Beth let out a gasp of recognition. Melissa twisted angrily in her ropes. "Once I realized that Riddle was taking over someone's body, it was easy to see that it meant one of the redheaded Weasleys. I started shadowing them, and it became obvious that it was the youngest. 

"I kept an eye on her. One night I saw her slip from the castle, so I followed her outside. She went to Hagrid's chicken coop -- it was she who had been strangling roosters, while the Dark Lord controlled her mind. The cry of the rooster is deadly to a basilisk. I went to her -- to him -- and offered my fealty. He allowed me to kill the rooster." 

"And now you've just let him kill her," Uther spat loudly. 

"You be quiet!" shouted Riggs. His glasses fell askance on his long nose. "What's one life compared to the glory of us all?" 

"There's no glory in serving evil," said Richard quietly. 

"You're wrong!" Riggs practically screamed. "Who was more powerful than the Death Eaters? No one! With Dumbledore gone and Potter killed, there'll be no one left to stop another glorious era -- and then who'll rule the world? Not the enemies of the Dark Lord -- they'll be killed one by one!" He was breathing heavily. "He is not dead and he is not gone. There is deep power behind him." 

He took a deep breath and relaxed again. "He took me into the Chamber," he said, and his voice was eerily conversational. "Told me to close my eyes. He had the girl call forth the basilisk and let it slither under my outstretched hands. It was bristling with power ... power to kill, to maim, to strike fear. And that power's going to be mine." 

A terrible smile washed over his face. "Very soon, Harry Potter will be following his best friend's sister into the Chamber of Secrets. I made sure of that. I gave him hints to where it was ... put ideas in that scarred head of his ... 

"The problem was, everything would be ruined if he actually found out what the creature was. He'd have time to arm himself ... that wouldn't do at all. Luckily, when Miss Granger discovered that the monster was a basilisk, she came to myself and Miss Clearwater first. I was able to warn my lord, and have them frozen before they told anyone else. It wasn't easy to be so subtle, but I think my work will pay off ..." 

"Pay off!" Uther sputtered, earning him a snarl from Riggs. 

"Oh yes, it will pay off. Potter will describe what went wrong last time. Then he'll die. There's nothing you can do about it. We'll all show up again tomorrow morning and pretend as if we were in our beds all night -- wouldn't want to expose your precious society, would you, Rich?" he sneered. Richard flinched. "By then, of course, it'll all be over ... my lord will be restored to full power, with his greatest enemy out of the way ... Then we'll see what happens. It'll be an adventure. Won't it, Rich?" 

Richard had nothing to say. 

Silence descended on the company like a smothering cloak. Beth, afraid to take her eyes from Riggs, only stared at him in despair. In the course of a year, what had gone wrong? What had made him take the path that so many others had taken, only to meet death or worse? Evan Wilkes' father had died for his role in Voldemort's rise. Beth's entire family was incarcerated and probably going slowly mad as dementors circled in and out of the dank halls of Azkaban. What would make Riggs disregard all of that, in a futile quest for power? 

Obviously, he didn't think it was futile. And judging by how well Riddle's -- Voldemort's -- plan was going, Riggs might have been right. 

There was the click of a latch. 

Riggs perked up and glared around at them. "Don't try anything, or you can say goodbye to Vivian," he growled savagely. Vivian closed her eyes. 

Another scraping noise. A slow creak. Then, as Beth watched, Herne Rudisille came into the Vase Room. 

"Sorry I'm late -- got caught --" 

Riggs whirled on him and raised his wand ... but as he did, Uther and Daedalus leapt into action. They barreled forward like a pair of trains, shoving things out of their way as they went. Riggs turned back around, but he only had a split-moment before both larger boys had thrown themselves onto him and brought him to the ground. 

The action brought everyone else out of their stupor and to their feet. Evan leapt up and joined the fray, where he ground his foot into Riggs' wrist until he let go of his wand. Beth and Richard darted to Vivian's side and began tugging at her ropes. 

"Wands," Daedalus gasped, grabbing the stack of wands from Riggs' pocket and tossing them onto the ground behind him. He picked up one randomly and quickly enunciated, "_Petrificus totalus_." Beneath him, Riggs grew as cold and still as if he had stared into the gaze of a basilisk. 

Uther and Daedalus stood and looked down at the frozen boy on the ground. Then they looked up. Herne was backed up against the door, eyes wide and frightened. 

"What ... what did I miss?" 

Evan came up and got his wand from the pile. "Not too much," he said coolly, his voice calm. "Better get in here and help us clean up, though." 

He set about freeing the frozen and bound, and the rest of them gradually joined in and helped him. 


	27. What Came of it All

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: What Came of It All**

Before long, Vivian and Melissa were untied, Bruce and Mervin freed from their curses, and just as a precaution, Riggs had been tied to the chair in the vase room. His Petrified face was slack and staring. 

"I can't believe it," said Vivian sadly, touching Riggs' frozen cheek. "He's always been so -- solid and -- _practical_." 

Melissa felt no such sympathy. "Let's just leave him here," she hissed. "A summer laying Petrified ought to do it." 

On Richard's tired and drawn face, there suddenly dawned an expression of horror. "Petrified," he breathed. "Oh no -- that girl's still in the Chamber! We've got to go warn someone!" He tore out the door, and the S.S.A. followed. 

They rushed down the corridor toward the common room. "Snape --" panted Richard, at the front of the group. "Closest -- McGonagall from there --" He screeched to a halt in front of the stone wall that hid the entrance to the Slytherin dormitories. "Pagliacci," he gasped, and the door swung open. They tumbled inside, expecting to see the chaos and confusion that they had left behind a few hours ago. 

No one was there. 

"Where _is_ everybody?" Richard practically shrieked. He looked very white. "They weren't -- _evacuated_ or something, were they?" 

"Take a breath, Rich," snapped Vivian. "Let's fan out. Melissa, you can get into the Gryffindor common room, right? Take Bruce. Mervin and Evan, go up to the prefects' lounge, the password is 'creme brulee'. Herne, you and Uther try to get to Snape's office. Beth and Dell, go to the Great Hall and out on the grounds. Rich, you and I are going up to Dumbledore's office to see if McGonagall is in. Anyone you find has to be told that the monster is a basilisk and where the Chamber is. We'll meet back at the Great Hall. Now move!" 

They divided according to Vivian's orders. Beth and Daedalus darted up through the dark, twisted corridors toward the Great Hall. Beth had visions of whole classrooms full of Petrified students, or Ginny Weasley's mangled body in the hallway while Tom Riddle -- Lord Voldemort -- stood in Dumbledore's old office and laughed. She could almost hear the laughter ringing through the halls. Laughter and shouts of joy -- 

"Good lord," breathed Dell, and he slowed to a stop. 

The Great Hall was filled with people. Beth thought at first they had been herded there for safety, but they didn't look afraid, or upset, or any of it. If anything, it looked like one enormous party. 

Speechless, they walked slowly into the open doors. They were immediately grabbed and hustled further into the ruckus. Ecstatic cheers surrounded them: "He's done it, he's done it, she's okay! Haven't you heard? You-Know-Who was right here -- again! Don't you know?" 

Daedalus stared at Beth, mouth gaping in confused shock. 

Someone clapped Beth on the shoulder. She whirled around. 

Aaron Pucey was there. His arm was still completely bound up, but he was beaming wide. "Beth, where've you been? You're missing the fun!" 

Beth's mouth was dry. "What ... happened?" 

Aaron shook his head gleefully. "Harry Potter went into the Chamber of Secrets, killed the basilisk -- it was a basilisk, did you know? -- and defeated the Dark Lord, who had taken over the body of the little Weasley girl! She's okay now -- Dumbledore's back, Hagrid's coming back -- can't believe you've missed this! Where were you?" 

"Uh -- studying," blurted Beth. "I'll -- uh -- be right back, okay?" 

"And wait till you hear what happened to Lockhart!" called Aaron after her. 

She struggled through the crowd and found Dell in a mob of other seventh-years. Grabbing his arm, she dragged him back out of the Great Hall and into the corridor. He still looked mostly confused. 

"They're saying it's all over," he said, sounding dazed. "Did we really miss it all?" 

"That was --" Beth began bitterly, but she broke off. She had been about to say, "That was Riggs' fault." 

The other members were racing down the halls toward them now, in various degrees of panic. Daedalus held up his hands as Evan and Mervin darted up, panting. "She's okay, everything's okay." 

"What?" demanded Mervin, gasping for breath. 

Daedalus got halfway though his explanation before Uther sprinted up to them and roared, "Why's everyone just standing around? Snape's gone!" 

It took four tries before the tale was told and everyone had gathered to hear it. Just as he was finishing, Vivian appeared. She didn't look panicked -- but she looked worried. 

"I know it's over," she said, raising her hands, as Daedalus launched into his story one more time. "But everything isn't done. Richard is up with Dumbledore now. We ... have to all go and tell him about Riggs." 

The members fell silent. The laughter and gaiety from the Great Hall seemed more distant. 

"What are we going to tell him?" asked Daedalus quietly. 

Vivian shrugged. Her eyes were sad. "The truth." 

They started up the many staircases to Dumbledore's office. The doorway was open, and Richard could be seen from the corridor, so one by one they went inside and stood behind their president: a tired but formidable group of students, on a mission that no one wanted to do. 

Once again, Richard served as spokesman. 

"We need to speak with you about a very important matter." 

Dumbledore peered keenly at Richard, and at the rest of the S.S.A. gathered around him. "Of course." 

Richard took a deep breath. "We would like to recommend that Randall Riggs be removed from consideration for the position of Head Boy." 

It must not have been what Dumbledore was expecting; the old Headmaster looked startled, and sat up a bit straighter. "You do realize that if he doesn't get the job, it will certainly go to one of the prefects of another house?" 

Richard nodded bitterly. "Yes." 

"In fact, my second choice was Percy Weasley, of Gryffindor. You ... understand this?" 

"Yes, sir." 

There was a pause. Dumbledore licked his lips. "Well. May I ask what convinced you that he is unsuitable?" 

"No, sir." 

Vivian stepped up. "Yes, you can, sir," she said softly. "Two counts of attempted murder, Miss Penelope Clearwater and Miss Hermione Granger." She fell silent, giving Richard a guilty but challenging look. Richard said nothing. 

Dumbledore gazed around at the assembled students until Richard spoke up again. 

"Also, we recommend that he be removed from his position as prefect. Please trust us as members of the Society for Slytherin Advancement. We want nothing but the best for our house." 

"Aha. Yes, I can see now that this whole matter would concern you all." Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "I'll consider your recommendation. Please send Randall Riggs to see me as soon as possible. Where is he now?" 

"Tied up in the Vase Room, sir." 

If this surprised Dumbledore, he made no sign of it. "Very well, when you see fit to release him make sure that he comes here immediately after." 

"We'll do so right away, sir," said Richard. He turned around, and then turned back. "One more thing. We've been meaning to tell you, but you haven't been here, and we only just found out." 

"Yes?" 

"Professor Kettleburn is smuggling fantastic beasts through Hogsmeade village." 

Dumbledore peered at Richard as if trying to draw forth his deepest secrets. "A serious accusation against a teacher. Do you have any proof?" 

"The second drawer from the top, in the back left corner of his room," said Herne suddenly, "is full of golden snidgets." 

Dumbledore's brow was heavily furrowed. "I'll certainly look into your claims, although I can't promise what action might be taken." 

"That's all we ask," said Richard. 

There wasn't anything else to say, so they left quietly. Dell and Uther -- their two biggest members -- went to the Vase Room to bring up Riggs to whatever fate he might meet in Dumbledore's office. 

***

Down in the Great Hall, the huge party was still in full swing. The frozen students had been revived, and the whole school -- even the teachers -- were celebrating their return. The Weasleys were in one big red-headed clump around their little sister, who couldn't even be seen in the midst of them. A glance at the hourglasses on the far wall showed that Gryffindor had jumped ahead four hundred points (no doubt Potter had earned them all) and there was no way that Slytherin would ever catch up. 

"We don't deserve the house cup anyway," Richard said bitterly. "One of our own, helping out the Heir, and we didn't even catch him. I'm disgusted." 

The S.S.A. joined the excited throng, but none of them could really get into the spirit of things. Beth kept thinking about Riggs up in Dumbledore's office, wondering what they could be saying to each other and what would happen to Riggs. He had always been a slightly aloof but genuinely nice boy -- but then she thought of his wild eyes and his wand at Vivian's throat, and shuddered. 

Still, everyone else was all right, and that was worth something. 

On a whim, Beth fought through the crowd until she got to where the Weasleys still huddled around Ginny. The twins turned and glared at her. 

"What d'you want?" 

Beth swallowed. "I'm -- glad your sister's okay." 

The twins exchanged a quick glance. Then one of them cleared his throat. "Thanks. Us too." 

They stood and looked at each other for a second. Then Beth turned and went back to her group. 

The party lasted all night long. Most of the Slytherins went to bed early. Draco Malfoy was found sulking in the common room. It eventually came out that he had lost his family house-elf and his father had been removed as a school governor all in that evening. To top it off, he was furious that "after all that, it didn't work." 

"What didn't work?" asked Uther casually. 

"Getting rid of the Mudbloods! They're still here, aren't they?" ranted Draco. "And Gryffindor's getting the House Cup again. Bloody disgraceful!" 

"I'll say," said Uther, looking at Draco. 

***

Finals were cancelled. In fact, all further tests and assignments were cancelled, except for -- 

"O.W.L.s," moaned Richard. 

He was draped over piles of textbooks in the library, which had been completely abandoned except for the fifth years, who would be taking their Ordinary Wizarding Levels in two days, and the seventh-years, who were preparing for the N.E.W.T.s. 

"I've spent this whole year thinking about things like who was the Heir, where's the Chamber, how are we going to get Daedalus restored -- and the O.W.L.s snuck up on me!" 

"You'll do all right," said Beth. "You're no idiot, Rich." 

Richard put his face in his hands in frustration. 

***

The S.S.A met without the third-years on the last Wednesday of the year. Beth and Melissa got there early to find Daedalus hanging around, flipping through the Ledger. He looked up at them. 

"Going to miss this." 

"You're still a member," Beth reminded him. 

Daedalus sighed. "I guess. It's going to be something to see what happens to us once we graduate and can't win any house points. Anyway, I've had my last big adventure." 

"What's that?" said Beth. 

"I took Rich down to the Chamber of Secrets, to look around," said Daedalus. "He was pretty thrilled. It's a mess down there -- blood all over the place, and the basilisk's still in there rotting. Smells awful. Oh hey, these are for you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of long, red feathers, just like the ones they had found in the chamber a scant few months ago. Then he handed them to Melissa, who took them eagerly. "Like you asked. And you'd better be grateful, I had to bend over the putrid corpse to reach them." 

"Thanks!" exclaimed Melissa in delight. 

"What are you going to do with those?" Beth asked curiously. 

Melissa shot her a secretive glance. "I shouldn't be telling you -- just keep it a secret, all right --" 

"Sure," said Dell, and Beth nodded agreeably. 

"Well, Ollivander's has been making wands out of unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, and phoenix feather for like two millennia. Every once in a while they'll try something unusual -- leprechaun hair, griffon feather, something like that -- but nothing's ever panned out. I thought I'd get my uncle to try out some with the plume of a basilisk. Just for experiment, you know." She shrugged. "It might give it some interesting properties." 

"Mel, that's a great idea!" said Beth. Then it occurred to her ... if Melissa could prove to her parents that she was capable of innovation, if she could develop something new or different for the company, it would make all the difference in her future. She gave Melissa a knowing look. 

"That's the plan," said Melissa, looking back at Beth. 

"Oh --" said Beth suddenly, remembering. "The student down there. Ulysses Donner. What can we --" 

"Nothing," Daedalus said shortly, before sitting down on the low divan. "Rich and I had a chat with Rothbard. The statue's been there for twenty years, not aging, not breathing. The other victims didn't die because they must not have looked at the basilisk directly ... but Donner must have, he looked totally different from the others. We're leaving him down there." And that was all he would say. 

By then the Vase Room had filled up and Richard was at the front of the room, trying to get everyone's attention. He didn't look as hearty as usual. Riggs's chair behind the Ledger was notably empty. 

Richard looked out at them all. "First --" 

"What happened to Riggs?" asked Vivian sharply. 

"That _was_ first," said Richard. "He's been expelled." 

"What?" cried Uther. Vivian put her head in her hands. Daedalus shook his head numbly. 

"Dumbledore got the whole story from him, and he was expelled," Richard said again. "But there's more. Riggs wasn't stupid. He'd already put in for a transfer to Durmstrang for next year. So he's going to go there for his last year of school." 

"Durmstrang doesn't care that he's a Death Eater?" asked Melissa helplessly. 

"_Was_ a Death Eater," said Richard firmly. "I'm not giving up on him yet. And actually, from what Gypsy Arendt says about her headmaster, I don't think they do." 

"It's going to be so weird without him," said Vivian softly. 

"It would have been weird with him," said Daedalus. "At least he still gets to graduate from somewhere." 

"Speaking of graduates --" said Richard, now looking at Dell and Vivian. "Daedalus Dellinger and Vivian Sicklewise are both leaving us after this year. You've both been fantastic members. Best of luck in the future, and stay in touch." 

"Yeah, we'll see you next time somebody dies," cracked Uther. 

Beth looked over at Vivian and Daedalus, who were sitting together on the divan and holding hands. "D'you get the feeling that whenever we see them again, they'll be together?" she whispered to Melissa. 

Melissa nodded, a dreamy smile on her face. 

"Anyway, that's two members that need to be replaced," Richard continued. "I want to hear who you guys want to replace them. Alphabetically: Bulstrode, Crabbe, Goyle, MacDougal, Malfoy, Parkinson, and Zabini. Vivian, what's the word on Millicent Bulstrode?" 

"Not stupid, but distinctly mean," said Vivian. "She's very outspoken -- very aggressive. Not at all prone to keeping secrets. She doesn't have any real friends, and spends a lot of time with her pet cat. I think she's going to do just fine for herself in the future, but I think I wouldn't recommend her. She's just not a good match." 

Beth thought this was a little cursory as a description of someone's entire personality, but Richard nodded as if satisfied. "Thank you. I had Vincent Crabbe. His dad was acquitted in the Death Eater trials and his mother's some kind of invalid. It's a very old pureblood family. If you see him around school, he looks like he's just Draco's lackey, but really he's got his own ambitions. He wants to be a writer." 

Uther snorted into his sleeve. Bruce let out a little guffaw of disbelief. 

"No, I mean it," Richard went on. "He's written some three or four novels already. Not half bad, either. I had to get through about a dozen curses on his trunk to read them, but he's really got a bit of talent. On the other hand," he added, "he's a bit greedy and doesn't have much foresight. But then, neither does Uther." Uther stopped laughing. "I'd say, I'd recommend him -- not as highly as I did Evan, for instance, but a bit." 

Bruce had Gregory Goyle. He had nothing good to say about him, except that he was massive enough to be a formidable weapon. "But then, he's dumb enough that we could manipulate him even if he wasn't in the club," he added with a shrug. "There has to be somebody out there who's better." 

"Morag MacDougal is," spoke up Mervin. "He's solid and smart, he never gets into trouble. Keeps a very low profile." 

"Is he up for things like, going into the Forbidden Forest at night?" asked Melissa dubiously. 

Mervin nodded. "Uh-huh. I didn't say he never did anything wrong, I said he never got caught. He's pretty slick. He already knows how to get out of the castle whenever he wants. And I caught him trying to Apparate. He's a good guy. He's got my vote." 

Richard smiled at him. "Great, thanks. Uther? You had Draco Malfoy." 

"Yeah." Uther got up out of his armchair like he was going to make a toast. "Everybody knows Draco. He's smart, funny, popular, athletic -- much like me, really -- and he's as ambitious as they come. His family's rich and pure-blood Slytherin for centuries. Draco's got it all." He frowned. "But he's a jerk and there's no getting around it. Even after being on the team with him, I don't think I'd trust him. Besides -- you saw how excited he was when the Chamber was opened. I'm kind of afraid he'll go the same way Riggs did." There was a moment of terse silence. 

Bruce had been nodding in agreement. "Spoiled if you ask me. He's all right, I guess, but Uther's right -- I don't trust him at all." 

"No recommendation, then?" Richard looked keenly at Uther. 

"I'd recommend we keep this organization as far away from him as we can," said Uther lazily, sitting back down. Melissa looked disappointed. 

"Pansy Parkinson?" said Richard. 

"Oh, that's me," said Melissa, sitting up straighter. She made a face. "You know Antigone Von Dervish? She's a lot like that." 

Vivian began to laugh. "Gee, Dell, I remember when you thought it would be a good idea to have someone of her -- how did you say it -- _proportions_ in the club. Kind of to _round it out_, isn't that how you put it?" 

Daedalus blushed a bright crimson. "Eh -- that must have been Uther." 

Uther grinned cheekily. 

"She's pretty smart," Melissa went on, ignoring them, "but very stuck up. And you should hear the way she makes fun of people -- even Millicent Bulstrode, in her own House and year. It's terrible. She hasn't got my vote at all." 

"Fair enough," said Richard. "Beth? Blaise Zabini?" 

Beth looked down, embarrassed. "I didn't get to know her very well," she said. "She gets good grades. She's shy, and she's nice ... she hangs out with Pansy and Draco, but she's not really like them ... She's pretty normal," she finished, running a high blush. 

"All right, that's good," said Richard. "Sounds like ... Crabbe, MacDougal, and Zabini ... ready to vote?" 

"Already?" asked Bruce in surprise. 

"Sure, you already know who you want, don't you?" said Richard. 

"Well, yeah ..." said Bruce. He shrugged. "Whatever." 

One by one the names were called and they voted. Richard tallied the votes. It would have been Riggs's job, but no one mentioned that. 

"Great! Next year we can welcome Morag MacDougal and Blaise Zabini. Have the rings and notes been finished?" 

Uther and Bruce had gotten the rings made, out of the metal of Salazar Slytherin's old cauldron. Melissa and Daedalus were halfway through enchanting them; Melissa said she would take them home over the summer and finish them up. Mervin had been working with Riggs on the notes. They had finished just a week ago. 

"Good thing," said Mervin. He didn't elaborate, but he didn't need to. 

"That's the old business. Anything else?" 

No one responded. 

Richard took a deep breath. "Then I have some news. I've ... decided to resign as President." 

There was a clamor of outrage. 

"Nothing's gone right since I've been here. We lost the house cup and now Gryffindor's got a two-year winning streak. Twice now -- _twice_ -- the Dark Lord's been here and we didn't even know it. I didn't find out that our founder is He Who Must Not Be Named, and I didn't realize that Riggs had been helping him." His shoulders slumped in defeat. "I gave up my chance to be a prefect _and_ now my O.W.L.s didn't go well either, and even then I've done nothing to advance the Society. Anyway, it was founded by the Dark Lord. I don't know if I want to." 

"Don't be silly, Rich!" Vivian scolded. "It doesn't matter who started the Society! Remember, Riddle himself said there was a division even way back then. Come on, it's not like we're a gang of Death Eaters." 

Richard shook his head doggedly. "I can't. I've failed you all." 

"All right, you've resigned," Vivian said angrily. "That makes me the President. Well, I'm appointing you to be President next year. Now you have to take it. It's in the rules." 

"Rich, you're not a failure," said Daedalus. 

"Anything but, old chap," Uther said concernedly. 

"And we've done all right!" said Bruce. "I mean, our Quidditch team's still tops ..." 

"Last year, you went and found Dumbledore before Potter could get killed up in the forbidden corridor ..." 

"And we did find out about the basilisk. We just got sidetracked by Kettleburn, that's all." 

"Good we found out about that, after all," said Melissa suddenly. "He had all kinds of things in his office, when they went through it. Turns out half the stuff in his classroom was contraband. He confessed to everything." 

"I bet that means Dumbledore gave him a second chance," grumbled Mervin. 

"Nope. Sacked on the spot," Melissa grinned. "I think they're going to keep that a secret from the students though." She didn't mention how she had found out about it herself. 

"That reminds me -- how did Herne ever find out about Kettleburn?" Beth asked. 

Richard perked up. "Saw him making another delivery to Hogsmeade. Herne stayed out all night and didn't get caught at all." 

"Know what else?" Bruce interjected suddenly. "That missing hand of his. He lost it in the Middle East, all right, but it wasn't a manticore. He was caught poaching over there and they cut it off." 

Beth shuddered. 

Richard was looking at the ground thoughtfully. "So that's two new teachers next year?" he said slowly. 

"New secrets to learn, Rich," Vivian wheedled. 

"And I know you're not going to let us solve all those mysteries of the castle without you," Beth said challengingly. 

Richard chewed on his lip. He looked up at Vivian. "All right then, if you say so. It's in the rules." 

And any further doubts he had must have been overwhelmed by the cheers and encouragement that followed. 

***

The last trip to Hogsmeade Village, which had been cancelled thanks to the attacks, was reinstated, and on a bright Saturday in June the older students all packed into the horseless carriages and rode down to the town. 

Most of the students were thrilled to be outside, especially after having been caged up in the castle every evening for a month, but Beth and her friends were content to just stroll around and take advantage of the little time before they all went off for the summer. 

"I hope you can visit this summer, Beth," said Melissa, as they walked down the cobblestone street past the Three Broomsticks and its rival tavern, the Hog's Head. "My parents are going off to Spain and taking Russell with them -- that's my little brother -- but I'm staying home with my Uncle Ollivander. I told them it's because I'm bored with Spain, but really he's promised to help me make those basilisk-core wands." 

"You actually told someone about them?" asked Beth, half amused and half horrified, while Bruce snorted, "Bored with Spain," under his breath. 

"It's all right, my uncle's the best wand maker in Britain. Plus, he was a member too, you know." 

Beth grinned. "All right, sounds like fun. I'll see what my dad says." 

They meandered into the broomstick shop with all the displays. 

"Sad, really," sighed Bruce. 

"What's that?" Beth asked. 

He pointed to where a Nimbus Two Thousand and One hovered over a podium. "It's a great broom, but it's going to be totally outdated in maybe a year. Rumor has it that the Firebolt people are working on something that'll fly the Nimbus into the ground." 

"At least you had it this year," grinned Melissa. "Just long enough to keep the Cup." 

"I guess," sighed Bruce. "Next year's going to be a tough one, though. We've got to replace both Pucey brothers, and Gryffindor'll have all veterans." 

"I like how you're not even worried about Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw," Melissa said, with a little snigger. Bruce shrugged and grinned. 

They meandered over to the portraits of "Generous Contributors". 

"I still say he looks like you, Beth," said Bruce idly, pointing at the picture of Beobub "Bob" Parsimmer, the blonde man with the protruding chin. 

Beth snorted and looked up at the portrait. Her jaw dropped. 

"That's him -- that's the guy that was talking to my father, over Christmas! I _knew_ I'd seen him somewhere!" 

"That's weird," said Melissa. "Why would your dad be talking to a Parsimmer? They're such a prominent family, and he's not even a wizard -- no offense," she added hastily. 

"None taken," said Beth vaguely. She was looking up at the portrait intently. The name and face were so familiar ... A crazy thought started to come together in her head. She looked at the hair, the prominent chin (the Parson profile, she had called it, when she'd seen the vision of her brother in the S.S.A. sepulcher) and recalled how his expression had been identical to her father's. It was because they had been discussing the same thing, surely, but didn't it help that they had such similar faces ... 

And she thought of what Bruce had said earlier that year. 

"_I'd run off and change my name ... start over like a Muggle so nobody'd know I ought to be something else_." 

"Oh goodness," said Beth suddenly. "That can't be right." But even as she said it, and looked into the face of Bob Parsimmer, she knew -- without knowing -- what he and her father had been talking about. Her father, William Parson, had chosen the life and identity of a Muggle over the life of a Squib. It made perfect sense, suddenly -- the Sorting Hat wouldn't have let anyone but a pureblood into the Slytherin house, and apparently Beth's blood was far more pure than she had ever guessed. 

Melissa gave her arm a shake. "Are you all right?" 

"Uh -- maybe." Beth sat down right on the floor. "I think I just found something out that I was never supposed to know." 

***

The school year finished up more quickly than anyone could believe. Scores for the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s came back, and it turned out that Richard didn't do quite as badly as he had thought. ("Although," Rich said dejectedly, as he looked down at his score, "another two or three would have been nice.") Beth didn't tell anyone what she had guessed in the broomstick shop. There was plenty of time for that after she had confirmed if it was true. 

She got her chance on the first night back home in her cottage in Dorset. Her father had picked her up from King's Cross Station in a rental car and, once they got home, put special effort into making a pasta casserole. After dessert, when they were almost finished catching up on what had happened over the year, Beth turned to her father. 

"Mom was a Ravenclaw, right?" 

"Yes, she was." 

"And Chris a Hufflepuff. Lycaeon a Slytherin." 

"Yes." 

"What were your parents?" 

William Parson stopped dead and looked over at his daughter. A muscle in his cheek worked. Finally he said, "Hufflepuffs." 

"Thanks." Beth looked back at him for a little while. Then she got up and went to her room. 

She waited calmly, and it wasn't long before she heard her father's slow footsteps start up the stairs. She smiled. No matter what he had to say, she could take it in stride. It wasn't a crime to be born differently. She was glad that she knew -- and gladder still that he was willing to talk to her about it. 

Her bedroom door opened and her father stood there, stooped and shadowed. She smiled warmly at him. It was going to be all right. 

Finis


End file.
